


Scattered Moments

by DawnsEternalLight



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Crack, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Sleep Deprivation, because a lot of my shorts are funny or silly too, largely made up of short prompt answers, my collection of assorted things, takes place all over canon, there will be copious amounts of cuddling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2019-09-15 04:19:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 39,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16926396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: These are all the fics I've written that are too short to actually fit into their own work.





	1. Dick and Damian

**Author's Note:**

> Some quick notes for you guys:  
> \- These are being posted in no particular order, just what I pull off my tumblr whenever I pull it off  
> \- Some of these are years old so the writing will read differently than my current stuff  
> \- Chapters will have major characters listed as their names/possibly the themes of the fic  
> \- I don't have a perfect list written down of everything I've posted on AO3 already, so there might be some duplicates in this, if there are I'm sorry

Dick was silent the entire ride back to the bunker. He had to be or he knew he’d end up saying the wrong thing. Even now, even furious, the last thing Dick wanted to do was hurt Damian. Any words that he might say right now would cut because that’s how Dick was. When he was angry his words could dig and dig at someone until they found just the right place to stab.

He'd  heard that having kids was supposed to make someone less selfish. Dick was still terribly selfish. He wanted his family safe, happy, and whole and he’d do anything to make that happen. He refused to budge on that. What caring for a child had changed about him was his temper. He'd reigned himself in on more than one occasion for the kid. He couldn’t have a short fuse around Damian, not if he wanted him to take any of his lessons seriously. Not if he wanted Damian to believe him when he said he cared, that he loved him, and that he’d never hurt him for making a mistake.

Even if that mistake had almost gotten Damian killed and had ruined months of work.

He was just shy of slamming the car door shut when he jumped out of the batmobile. He was beginning to understand why Bruce would pour himself into work when a night went bad. His whole body felt tightly coiled, and ready to snap at a moment's provocation, and he needed something to distract and help calm  him down. As a kid, Dick had hated it when Bruce dismissed him and sat there, staring at the computer for hours, stony and silent. Dick had thought he was fuming, now he wondered if it was Bruce’s way of controlling his anger, and of keeping himself from yelling at Dick.

He found himself moving to the computer, ready to pull up the night’s file and delete everything, to burn the whole case he’d been building against Grover Davenport. Damian had all but done it tonight. He sighed, feeling his whole chest expand and contract with the breath, and turned his thoughts away from blaming his brother. He knew exactly what Damian had been trying to do, even if he wouldn’t say it himself.

The chair slid out with a scratch, and Dick tried to ignore the small angry presence beside him as he sat and pulled himself towards the sanctity of work. Damian understood that, didn’t he? Getting a case's information down as quickly as possible when it was still fresh was important. He'd told Dick as much many times.

“I had it under control.” Each word from his Robin's mouth was precisely measured and weighted for full emphasis.

Dick focused just a little harder on the files he was pulling up.

“I had Davenport, he was ready to spill everything.” Damian continued. “I didn’t need you.”

He was needling Dick, trying to get him to respond, to yell at him. Dick had done the same thing when he was Robin and he felt like Bruce hadn’t punished him properly for a mistake. Except instead of being upset Bruce hadn’t grounded him Damian was upset Dick hadn’t lashed out or hurt him either with actions or words. Damian didn't have to tell him that, Dick knew it. He'd gleaned the knowledge from countless conversations about how things were different in Gotham, how Damian didn't have to expect some kind of physical rebuke for a mistake.

It killed Dick, knowing that this kid, as prickly and insufferable as he could be, had been hurt physically and verbally for making even small mistakes. Navigating the minefield that was teaching Damian that had all been wrong was difficult at best. Every day was a balancing act, and a lesson to Dick in how to respond best to Damian. The last thing Dick wanted to do was hurt him more than he'd been hurt before. 

He pressed his lips closer and tamped down the anger bubbling inside him at everything. He wasn't going to snap or yell or give into Damian's needling. He would not give Damian the satisfaction he was looking for. Dick would not be everything Damian had left. He focused on the screen and kept his fingers tapping on the keyboard.

There were five blissful minutes of silence before, “You can’t do this, Grayson. You can’t just ignore me. I am your partner, you told me as much, so look at me and tell me what I did was wrong.”

The words were shakier now, not as full of pomp as they’d been minutes earlier. Dick took in another deep breath and kept working.

“Stop it!” Damian shouted, “Don’t you dare shut me out like this, Grayson! Talk to me! Yell! Do something, anything but this silence!”

Dick spun in the chair, angry words on his lips as he stood. All Dick saw in the next second was Damian’s flinch. The painful jerk his brother made at Dick’s movement, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment, his shoulders tensing, hands clenching for reasons beyond anger.

Every bit of anger in Dick was gone with that flinch. If any was left, the tear tracks on Damian’s cheeks would have been all Dick needed to let go of his fury at the boy’s mistake. The person he was looking at wasn’t a haughty prince or an angry vigilante, he was a terrified child. One Dick had frightened, despite his attempts not to.

He dropped to a knee and reached out slowly for his brother’s shoulders. Damian was like a brick, his body stiff and unmoving. He wouldn’t even look at him.

“I’m sorry.” Dick said.

He didn’t have to force the words to be gentle, they were. It was easy, the soft tone one that slipped out when he was faced with scared kids in a dark alley or frightened kidnap victims. It was wrong, Damian shouldn’t be a frightened child. He especially shouldn’t be afraid because of Dick.

Why couldn’t he get things right with Damian? He'd failed his balancing again, Damian's reaction was proof enough. Silence had been worse than biting words. Damian wouldn't even look him in the eye, and Dick was struck with a memory from his own childhood. He'd botched a case, worse than Damian's rash actions had tonight, and Bruce hadn't spoken to him the rest of the night. Dick had no idea what Bruce had been thinking. By the next morning he was convinced Bruce was going to strip Robin from him and send him away. He didn't, and Bruce hadn't even been angry that long, but none of that had been communicated to Dick. 

Here he was, terrifying Damian in that same way. He'd been trying so hard not to hurt him with words, he'd done it in a totally different way. Even when he was trying to do the right thing he messed up. He’d wanted to protect Damian from the fury of the league and forced him to face a different brand of fury, the quiet unknowable kind Dick himself had faced from Bruce. That was far more scary than loud words and screaming voices.

“I am so sorry, Damian.” Dick told him, “I’m so terribly sorry. I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

“I wasn’t scared.” Damian mumbled.

Dick pulled him into a hug that Damian didn’t fight. That alone told the truth to Damian’s lie.

“Well I was.” He said. “When I found your stuff gone I was afraid. When I found you with a gun to your head in that alley I was terrified. That fear turned to anger, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say some of it wasn’t directed at you.”

In his arms Damian stiffened again, but Dick let a hand rub his brother’s back to ease the anxiety out of him.

“I was mad that you left on your own without telling me, but I was angrier at the situation, and myself for putting you in the position where you thought you had to prove yourself to me.”

Now Damian pulled away from him, a hand furiously rubbing at his face. “I didn’t think I had to prove myself.” There was a defensive lilt to his tone.

“Really?” Dick asked. “Then why did you run off tonight when you knew we were working on the case?”

Damian bit his lower lip.

Dick tilted Damian’s head up to look him in the eyes, “Did it have anything to do with the fight you and Tim had earlier today?”

His brother didn’t answer him, and Dick nodded. “You know he just said that because you two were fighting? And that nothing said during that fight would change how I feel about you?”

“I was not a model of good behavior during that fight either.” Damian admitted. “I felt that it might have impacted your view on my skills and I was hoping to make it up to you before we spoke again.”

Dick smiled and shook his head. “Of course, you did.” He took his brother’s hand and rubbed his thumb atop it, “Listen, Damian, you don’t have to make anything up to me. I would love it if you and Tim could get along, but you can’t run off and try to fix something you haven’t even talked to me about.”

Damian nodded then looked Dick in the eye. “You also cannot block me out when you’re angry. Communication must go both ways. Even if you do not want to yell, you also shouldn’t be silent when you are angry either. It is,” he paused. “Unsettling.”

That was as much an admittance to Damian’s earlier fear as Dick was going to get so he nodded.

“I think I can agree to that.” He said. “Now, I’m going to hug you again, and to appease me and make up for tonight’s scare you’ll let me.”

Damian rolled his eyes, but opened his arms for the second hug. Dick took it before the offer could be rescinded and pulled his brother into a warm hug.


	2. Damian and Dick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian gets tricked into sleeping

Damian was beginning to wonder how Drake did it. Staying awake for days on end working on a case could not be good for you. That was not to say he was flagging. He might be going on three days of virtually no sleep (beyond the hour he’d gotten when knocked out on patrol the night before), but he was fine. What he was saying, was that Drake was obviously a fool to attempt this kind of vigil on a regular basis. Damian was fairly certain that even Father got more sleep than his third Robin. Not by much. But he did all the same.

Damian was also certain that Father had sent him upstairs with a request to Pennyworth as a trap. Damian was too often convinced to find his bed by a single look from Pennyworth. After that, a stern taking to, and a plate of cookies pressed into his hand, Damian’s resolve had waned, but not fallen. He was tired, but refused to give into sleep yet.

The case was not solved and until it was, he would not be resting. The families affected by it would be getting precious little until things were resolved, so why should he feel free to sleep when they couldn’t? What did tired eyes and a weary body matter when there were lives at stake?

He would drop Grayson’s cookies off to him and return downstairs, message successfully given to Pennyworth, then continue to assist Father. Perhaps this trip would work to clear his mind, and he would have new insights by the time he made it to the cave.

“Grayson?” Damian asked, stepping into the living room Pennyworth had directed him too.

“Here.” A hand rose, and waved from one of the couches.

Damian moved to the couch, and found his brother lounging, injured leg stretched out along the couch, with the other hanging over the edge. He’d been reading a case file and folded it, one finger pressed between the pages when Damian came up. For a man who'd been pulled off the case early on after tearing a ligament in his leg he had recovered from his initial frustration quite well. Grayson was not often one to waste energy on being irritated by something he could not do, especially after Damian had convinced him that rest was the best thing for him. He had been proud of his efforts to convince his brother, even if Grayson had given him that amused look that typically meant Damian had missed something before he had let Alfred help him upstairs.

“Hi.” Grayson smiled.

Damian nodded, and thrust the tray towards him. “Pennyworth sent me with refreshments.”

His brother waved the tray towards the coffee table. “Set them down, and take a look at this for me.” He lifted the file, his finger still holding his place, “I had Tim snatch me a copy of the original report, and I think I found something we missed.”

Damian hurried to follow his direction, a break in the case would be excellent news to take back to Father. He set the tray down then perched on the edge of the couch by Grayson, who pulled him closer and opened the folder for him. Damian took it, and began scanning the pages, reaching absently towards the still warm cookies, taking two to first hand one back to Grayson, then biting into his own.

It warmed him all the way down to his stomach, and he took a moment to lean back against Grayson, letting the older man take on some of his weight, and the exhaustion that went with it. When Grayson did not protest the movement, Damian let himself fully rest against his chest.

“It’s in the way she reported it.” Grayson said, pointing at a paragraph with one hand.

The other had found its way to Damian’s hair, running through it in soothing motions. Every so often Damian could feel him teasing out light tangles, and smoothing out mussed places, all accumulated in the days of research and patrol.

The repetitive movement was nice, and his stomach happy after another two cookies. It was so nice he felt his eyes dropping. He had to blink three times, rapid flutters of movement, to focus back on the pages before him.

“It’s–” Damian started, and yawned, “The woman lied. She has her times wrong here, and then the details–” he yawned again, unable to hold back the exhaustion, and the folder was being tugged from his hands.

“I know.” Grayson’s voice was soft, his fingers still gentle against Damian’s scalp, “I called B and let him know half an hour ago.”

Damian’s sleepy mind put the pieces together, “This was the trap, then.” He mumbled, and allowed Grayson to tug him closer against his warm chest, adjusting him into a more comfortable cradle, before pulling a blanket over them both.

“You needed some sleep.” Grayson pressed a soft kiss against his forehead.

“And you are a fiend.” Damian mumbled, curling towards him, “I shall–” he yawned again, “get you for this when I wake.”

His eyes had slipped shut at this point, hand curling against Grayson’s chest.

“I look forward to it.” His brother whispered, and Damian let himself smile as sleep took him.


	3. Dick and Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sick fic with Robin!Dick and Bruce

Being sick was stupid, Dick decided. It was doubly stupid that he’d gotten sick at school, and triply so that it might keep him from patrol. What crummy luck to catch strep throat from Julia (because that’s who it had to be, she’d tackled him during Tag on Tuesday, missed Wednesday, and Dick had woken up with a fever and sore throat on Thursday) just before the weekend hit.

Dick kicked his feet up and watched the blanket float back down. It was always good to miss a bit of school. And things wouldn’t be so bad if Bruce were staying home too. A movie or game night would be fun, even if Dick had to wear one of those medical masks Alfred insisted on. But Bruce was a stickler. There’s always some crime for him to fight, and Alfred’s just as good a nurse as Bruce would be. Better if anyone asked Dick, but he might lie too just to keep his dad around.

Dad. It was a weird word, because it should only apply to one person in someone’s life. But for Dick it now applied to two people. He’d thought a lot about it. Calling Bruce dad. He hadn’t done it yet, not out loud at least. There were lines. And someone had to remind Batman that they were partners, and Dick was not his sidekick. But in his brain, well that’s the name he preferred to list Bruce under.

He sniffled, and reached for another tissue. They were the kind with lotion that were supposed to keep his nose from getting red, but Dick doubted their effectiveness against his stuffy nose. It was already red and itchy. Though getting better. 'On the mend'  Alfred had said. Maybe Dick could convince Bruce he was doing good enough after a solid day and a half of bed rest to go out with him.

Dick balled the tissue and tossed it at the trash bin, the ball bounced off the rim and Dick groaned. He kicked his feet out from under the covers, he needed to make sure it made it into the trash. Alfred would have his head if he left used tissues on the floor. He wrapped one of his blankets around his shoulders and hopped off the bed.

The blanket dragged after him across the carpet as he trudged over to the fallen tissue. He scooped it up and chunked it deep into the bin.

“What did that tissue do to deserve such an angry dismissal?”

Dick looked up to find Bruce had stepped in. He had the shadow of a smile on his face, curious eyes moving from Dick to the bin.

“Nothin'." Dick sniffed, "I missed, I didn’t want Alfie upset if I left it there.” he said, and shrugged.

“A good reason.” Bruce nodded, “How are you feeling, Chum?”

Dick straightened, one hand gripping the blanket as it rested around his shoulders. There was nothing he could do about his coloring, so if he was drained or red cheeked it wouldn’t help, but he tried to keep his voice as clear from scratchy as possible.

“Better. Maybe even good enough to help you tonight.”

“We’ll see.” Bruce told him.

Dick would have taken it as a good sign. Only, there was something off about Bruce. He eyed him, pressing his lips together. Detecting. Bruce was teaching him how to assess a person. Slumped shoulders, breaths more shallow than usual, eyes the tiniest bit glassy.

“How about you?” Dick asked, tugging his blanket a little closer to his chest. “How are you feeling?”

His dad’s eyes widened a fraction, “I’m not the one you should be worried about.”

Well he wasn’t lying. Not to Bruce at least. Dick knew he’d always worry more for anyone not himself. It was Dick’s job to watch out him, and not just Batman but also Bruce. His dad carried too many bad habits past the mask and needed a constant and careful eye on him. Sometimes Dick wondered who was parenting who.

“Mmkay.” He shrugged, and covered the few steps back to the bed, hopping up on it. He regretted the extra movement almost instantly as it sent a volley of scratchy coughs shaking from him.

The bed dipped as Bruce sat beside him, putting a hand on his head, pushing hair back from his too hot face. It made Dick wish he could catch his breath faster so he wouldn't worry him so much. Bruce’s other hand rested on his back, not patting. He’d tried that yesterday and both he and Dick had been shocked at how much worse it made his coughing. Bruce had not tried it again. Still, it was nice to have the support. Bruce's hand there helped steady him. 

Dick wiped his mouth with the back of his hand once the coughs subsided and gave his dad a watery grin, “Just a fluke. I’m fine.”

Bruce gave him one of those grunts that Dick always translated as ‘yeah right’. It was different from his ‘no’ or ‘I’m listening but too focused on what I’m looking at’ grunts. This one could only be translated to mean that Bruce thougt there was something suspicious happening. So far Dick had only ever heard Bruce give it to him. Well he’d done it to Alfred once, but the man had giving him a withering glance that had Bruce turning in his chair, suddenly very interested in the blood samples he’d been looking over.

“Really.” Dick told him. “I’m good. Much better than yesterday. Then I felt like I was going to throw up.”

“You’re not helping your case.” Bruce said.

Dick rolled his eyes, “I am. I haven’t wanted to throw up at all today. Plus, that cough was probably the first one in an hour.”

“Probably.”

“Probably.” Dick confirmed.

Bruce eyed him. “You’re pretty eager to help me out.”

Dick eyed him back, leaning back to make sure he was really looking at Bruce. This close he could confirm the glassiness of his dad’s eyes. And he way his skin was a bit paler then usual. A sudden lump formed in his stomach. Bruce was sick, and he was pretty sure it was his fault. It was just his luck. Julia gets him sick. Then he get’s Bruce sick. The next order of events would be Bruce goes on patrol and doesn’t take Dick along because Dick’s sick. Then Bruce gets hurt and Dick’s left even more guilty than before.

He could prevent that outcome.

“Seriously, Bruce. I’m fine.” Dick said. “But, just for you what if I promise to hang back and do mostly lookout stuff can I help?”

Bruce sighed, “Alright.”

“Great!” Dick said, and his voice cracked, this throat tickled on the word and he couldn’t stop a staccato of quick coughs from slipping out of him. Immediately his eyes glanced at Bruce.

He was frowning. And not the thinking kind. The one he did when he was going to deliver bad news.

“Please.” Dick said, “I don’t want you to go out by yourself. I hate it when you don’t have someone to watch your back.”

“Dick.” Bruce sighed, “I know it’s hard, but can you honestly promise me you’ll be more help than not right now?”

Dick’s face fell. He couldn’t. But he also couldn’t let Bruce go out by himself feeling bad. Not after it was his fault. He decided to pull out his last card.

“I know you’re not feeling so good either. I can tell, and it’s my fault. I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt because I got you sick, or because I wasn’t there, so please Br—”

Bruce held up a hand and Dick clamped his mouth shut.

“Why don’t we both stay in?” Bruce suggested. “It’s best for both of us.” He tugged Dick a little closer, “Besides, I wouldn’t be setting a very good example for you going out tonight if you’ve already figured out I’m sick too.”

Dick grinned at him. “Think we can convince Alfred to order pizza? It’s good for the sick.”

“You’ve done enough convincing tonight.” Bruce said.

“Well what about a movie? He can’t say no if we’re both sick already.” Dick said, “I’ll go outta my mind if I have to stay here all by myself the rest of the night.”

“That, I think we can arrange. Soup and a movie doesn’t sound as appealing as pizza, but I can promise it’ll be the better option.”

Dick sighed, “You win some you lose some.”

If he was being honest with himself he’d won the whole night. Getting Bruce to stay home was victory itself. This way Dick didn’t have to worry about him at all, and they could rest. Plus he got his movie night.

Bruce stood, and Dick followed him, blanket still around his shoulders.

“Hey, B?” he asked as they were walking out.

“Hm?”

“I thought Batman didn’t get sick.”

“Don’t push your luck, Dick.” Bruce said, but Dick could hear the smile in his voice.

“Kay, Mr. Big looming and ill. You sure we can’t order pizza?”


	4. Tim and Jason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the last thing someone copied: "Hippopotamonstrosesquidaliaphobia"

Jason found Tim asleep in the kitchen. He lay with is face squished into the counter. Next to him, Jason watched lazy steam rise from a mug, somehow Tim’s hand was still holding tightly to the handle of the mug, making the scene that much funnier. Jason didn’t even want to know how tired Tim had to be to fall asleep on the stool, while holding coffee. Only Tim could manage it.

He chuckled and went to move Tim’s hand so he could lift him to take him to his room, sure Tim would prefer sleep in his own bed rather than the hard counter.

Tim jerked awake, the mug scraping back with a loud screech of ceramic against counter, followed by the sloshing of hot coffee up and out of the cup.

“Hippopotamonstrosesquidaliaphobia!”

“Hippo-wha?” Jason asked, leaning slightly to give Tim a confused frown. “Did you fall asleep practicing for Hogwarts, Timbo?”

His brother blinked at him for a moment and frowned. “No. It’s the word for the fear of long words.”

“That.” Jason said testing the word. “is ironic. And I’m still unclear why that was the last thing on your mind?”

Tim yawned and reached for his coffee, stopping only as he realized the mug was still in his hand. He shrugged and took a sip, “Scarecrow. B and I had a case with him last night, and some guy got caught in the crossfire.”

“Lemme guess, he was afraid of long words?”

He shook his head, “Spiders actually. It just made me wonder.”

Jason sighed and put a hand on Tim’s back. “Tim. Timmy. Timbo. I have a suggestion for you.”

“What?”

Jason took the coffee from his brother. “Get some real sleep.”


	5. Tim and Damian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the request: Would you mind not setting my stuff on fire every time you get angry?

Damian was sketching when a shadow fell over the paper in his lap. He continued to push his pencil across the page in an arc, ignoring the chilly patch now lingering over him. He worked on his picture for another minute before the room’s other occupant cleared his throat. Damian glanced up and found Tim standing over him with his arms crossed, and face a scowl.   
  
“Can I help you, Drake?”    
  
His brother watched him for another beat before uncrossing his arms and holding out the charred remains of a hoodie. The smell of acrid burned fabric drifted off it. Damian raised an eyebrow at the hoodie. He had a feeling he knew where the conversation was about to go, but he wasn’t ready to admit to anything before he knew for sure.   
  
“Did you fall asleep with your elbow against the coffee pot again?”   
  
“That happened one time.” Tim said then narrowed his eyes at Damian. “Before you ever even showed up, so why would you know about—” he trailed.   
  
Damian smirked. “An easy guess, Drake. Thank you for the confirmation.” He turned back to his sketch to the sound of Tim sputtering.   
  
“Pay attention. This has nothing to do with my falling asleep anywhere.”   
  
Damian looked back up, tapping the eraser of his pencil against his paper. “I don’t see why. It’s obvious you’ve burned your hoodie. Perhaps by spilling acid? Or you tried to help Pennyworth in the kitchen?”   
  
Tim crossed his arms again, the blackened hoodie flopping against his forearm and smearing his arm with ash. “Then let me make it clear, would you mind not setting my stuff on fire every time you get angry?”   
  
Damian blinked up at him. He hadn’t set any of Tim’s stuff on fire in over a week. Been angry, yes. Took it out on the brother closest in age with him? No.   
  
“Contrary to popular belief I don’t always set your stuff on fire. Sometimes it is Todd’s.”   
  
“And never Dick’s?”   
  
Damian gave him a shocked look. “Grayson is off limits, even you know that. Now—” He set his sketchbook aside and stood, brushing loose eraser shavings off his pants. “Let’s go find out who burned your favorite hoodie.”   
  
He breezed past Tim, leaving the other boy standing shocked in his doorway. Halfway down the hall Damian paused. “You coming? We have siblings to check off.”   
  
They checked with Cass and Steph who were both in the cave training. Neither seemed to be lying, and Tim was still glaring daggers at Damian. The boy rolled his eyes and dragged Tim off to the kitchen where they called Jason.   
  
Jason spent half the phone call laughing at them for even considering him and Damian scowled at why. His brother was in Greece. Why, he didn’t care. It was how long that mattered, and he’d been there almost a week. He shot a glare at Tim.   
  
“You knew this.”   
  
“And, you should have.” Tim grinned back.   
  
Damian led Tim to Bruce’s office next, but stopped short of opening the door. Tim cocked his head and eyed the door. “You could always admit to burning my hoodie.”   
  
“I told you, I didn’t do it.” Damian snapped. He swung the door open and Bruce looked up with a frown.   
  
It took Damian half a minute of locked eyes with his father before he nodded and stepped back of the room without a word. Affirming that Bruce had nothing to do with the hoodie fire. They automatically discounted Alfred. If he’d had anything to do with it he would have mentioned it.   
  
Damian flopped onto the living room couch and glared up at Tim. “I didn’t do it.” He said again, even as his brother smirked down at him.   
  
“Right.”   
  
“Do you see a lie in my face? Hear it in my words? Take my heart rate, that’ll prove it.” Damian flung his arm out, wrist up for Tim to check.   
  
The other boy shook his head. “You could fake that, I’ve seen it.”   
  
Damian couldn’t figure out how to convince Tim that he hadn’t done anything to the hoodie aside from getting angry and actually burning something of Drake’s. On second thought, that might only work to confirm it.   
  
“What’s going on in here?” Dick strolled in, a bag tucked under his arm.   
  
“Demon Spawn won’t admit to burning my stuff.” Tim said.   
  
“Not true, I’ve burned plenty of things belonging to you, Drake. Just not that dumb hoodie.”   
  
Tim turned to Dick and sighed. “See what I mean?”   
  
Damian looked up at Grayson, hoping his brother would take his side. Typically Grayson could be counted on for most things, but when it came to fighting with Drake he never knew where his oldest brother would land. The man was irritatingly insistent on hearing both sides and preferring them to 'let it go and make up' over actually backing him in arguments.   
  
Dick frowned at them. “What is it he was supposed to have burned?”   
  
No question of why Damian would be burning things. No beratement of Damian admitting to picking on Tim. He didn’t even side with Tim. It was suspicious, too suspicious to be right. Damian was fairly sure the culprit had come to them, but he would not out Grayson yet. He would give him a chance to come clean first.   
  
Tim held up the blackened hoodie and Dick paled. Not by much, but his face lost a bit of it’s color.   
  
“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice. At least not until I’d switched this out.” He held the bag up for them to see.   
  
Damian couldn’t stop the grin on his face. “Then you are telling us that it was you who burned Drake’s hoodie?”   
  
“It was an accident.” Dick said but Damian was too busy gloating to listen.   
  
He’d hopped off the couch and slid over to Tim’s side. The other boy sighed. “I’m sorry, okay?”   
  
“Apology accepted.” Damian said pulling the burned top from Tim’s hands. “Now, let’s just hope Grayson hasn’t cursed you a replacement in line with his fashion sense.”


	6. Stephanie and Damian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt: I stabbed my last twelve brothers; why should you be any different?

Damian flipped through the handwritten script once before looking up at Stephanie. She was watching him with anticipation, leaned slightly forward as he read, not even bothering to give him the courtesy of pretending to ignore him while he read. Her expression something between excited and guarded, eyes glittering, but mouth tight. It was a look Damian hadn’t seen very often on her, and it gave him pause.   
  
“You are aware this reads like a staged version of the twelve dancing princesses, right?” he asked.   
  
Stephanie rolled her eyes. “Duh, Baby Bat. It’s my re-imagining of it, with princes instead of princesses."  She grinned at him, all wicked delight now, "This way, in the end it’s the women who save the day.”   
  
Damian hadn’t made it that far in the story, but he accepted her at her word. It did not surprise or bother him. He took no issues with the gender swap, it was easy enough to imagine Cain or his mother standing victorious as she rescued a gaggle of terrified princes.

“There seems to be a lot more bloodshed in this edition.”    
  
“It's full of guys, of course there’s blood.” Stephanie said. “If you don’t want to read it, I’ll find another twelve year old to hand it off to.” She reached for the pages, but Damian pulled them back.   
  
“I did not say I wouldn’t read it, Brown. However, your threat brings up a good point. Why exactly do you need me? I’m sure Grayson or Drake would be happy to help you with this project.” Damian said, then flipped the pages in his hands again, eyes focusing closer on the words.   
  
Stephanie shrugged. “I need a kid. The main character’s the youngest prince. Plucky, and ready to solve the mystery.”   
  
Damian gave her a wry smile. “Threatening violence makes him ‘plucky’?” he asked noting a line on the page.   
  
Stephanie leaned over and read the line Damian’s finger was on. 

“You threaten violence all the time.” She told him, straightening.   
  
Damian glared at her. “I am not plucky.”   
  
She laughed, “Of course you are. You just don’t realize it.” She reached out to ruffle his hair, and Damian jerked back. She pulled her hand back and waved off his glare.   
  
“I have stabbed my brother’s before, why should you be any different?” Damian snapped.   
  
“Good inflection, but it’s: I stabbed my last twelve brothers, why should you be any different?” Stephanie corrected him as she took the sheets from his hands, one perfectly painted purple nail stabbing down at the right line.   
  
Damian snatched it back. “I was not quoting. Besides, I believe my stab count for Drake is around ten, which will account for most of your ‘brothers’.”   
  
Steph raised an eyebrow at him. Damian was ready for her to ask why he’d stabbed (or attempted to stab) Drake so many times, but she didn’t. Her next words had nothing to do with Damian's brother.   
  
“You wouldn’t stab me.”   
  
“Tt. Try me.” Damian crossed his arms, letting the papers flop over one.   
  
The grin he received caused a twinge of worry in his stomach. He never knew what she was going to say next, let alone what she might do. Drake knew her better than any of them, and had sufficiently warned Damian about her ‘trouble smiles’. Not that he’d intended to warn Damian, it had been more of a complaint at the time, but Damian had noted it down all the same.   
  
Whatever hid behind Brown’s current smile could only be bad news for him. He knew it as well as he knew his own name.   
  
“You won’t,” she started. “Because if you do I won’t let you act in my play.”   
  
The relief at her statement was enough to make Damian bark out a laugh. “That is not a threat, Brown. I wouldn’t want to act in your play anyway.   
  
The grin had not gone away, in fact it grew as Stephanie pulled a flyer from her back pocket. “You will, when I tell you it’s going to be preformed at the Gotham Summer Shows. I won a contest with it, so I get to direct and pick my actors.”   
  
“So.” Damian replied, uncrossing his arms to take the outstretched flyer. There on it, was Brown’s name and the name of her play to be preformed.   
  
“So, I know you like acting.” She said.   
  
Damian must have let some kind of surprise slip onto his face because she jumped a little in her excitement. “Ha! Yes, I knew it. Bruce only mentioned it in passing, but this. Wow, Little D. You’ve got the bug don’t you?”   
  
“I do not.”    
  
He did indeed. He hadn’t had much of a chance to act since his revival. Things had been busy, and his instructor had taken on a few extra students in his absence. Kelly was still teaching him, just less often. This would be the perfect opportunity for him to do more than just practice. She had been telling him he was ready for more than small recitals and lonely soliloquies.    
  
“Of course you do. And that’s why you’ll be on your best behavior around me until after the show.”   
  
Damian scowled at her. “I could always say no.”   
  
She took the papers from him and tapped his head with them. “But you won’t. Now, who should be the villain? I was thinking about asking Alfred.”   
  
“Pennyworth would be delighted to participate.” Damian told her, through a sigh, being nice to Brown wouldn’t have to last forever, just until after the play.   
  
Stephanie grinned at him again. “That’s what I thought. See, you can be plucky. The perfect sidekick to my grand adventure in directing.”   



	7. Dick and Damian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four times Dick held Damian while they were Batman and Robin together

“Let me go, Batman. I can walk.” Damian grumbled, as he twisted in Dick’s grip until he’d pulled away enough to jump out of his arms.

He was fine. He could handle a sprained ankle. It was nothing compared to things he’d had to deal with in the past, besides a Robin should not fall in front of his Batman. It was his job to keep Grayson safe, how could he do that if he allowed himself to give into weakness? Especially something as paltry as an ache in his ankle. 

The moment his feet hit the ground pain laced up his leg, seizing his muscles, and sending him stumbling forward. He took a single step and fell forward only to be caught around the middle by a gauntleted hand. Before his vision had cleared he was scooped back into arms that were gentle but firm. Arms that promised safety and rest. Arms that said he could trust them.

Damian gave himself one second. One second to catch his breath and pull himself back together before he shoved at Batman’s chest again. He could not allow the idea of ease and rest to enter his mind. Safety was a children’s story. One did not find it in the comfort of another, they found it in the overcoming of their enemies. Besides, how could Grayson accept him as a competent partner if he let his guard down like this? If he let himself be cared for while they were still in the field?

“I am not some child that needs to be coddled, Grayson. I am fine.” he pulled away again, and this time he managed to stay on his feet. He stumbled back, away from Batman, and tried not to feel bad about the frown of worry on the man’s face.

He didn’t feel bad, no he was furious. Furious with himself for allowing such a mistake. For even letting Grayson see a moment of his weakness. That brief moment when Grayson had held him and his weight had been off his infernal ankle might have been bliss, but it was bliss of a traitorous kind. It was weakness and Damian was not weak. He didn’t have the luxury to show anything but strength. It was the only thing keeping him in his place as Robin, and by proxy in his place with his father’s family.

He would not show weakness. Would not give Grayson any reason to assume he was not fit to assist him, or allow any moments when his guardian might believe his skills not up to par. He would not be sent back to mother because he wasn’t good enough to hold the mantle he’d been given.

Damian kept his expression blank, even when he placed his foot down and agony replaced feeling in his leg, he made sure the pain did not show. He pushed forward down the alley. “I can continue with patrol.” He said to the still worried face. “It was only a rock I slipped on.” As if it could convince Grayson, he kicked a piece of concrete, knocked loose long before their arrival, towards his mentor.

Dick looked him over for a second and then, as if he was already regretting his decision, he nodded his head.

* * *

 

Damian’s stomach turned as he swung from one building to another, and it had nothing to do with the height or swooping speed. He had grown used to those motions. It was the sick, churning, feeling in his stomach that was alien to him. As alien as the pounding in his head, the constant need to squint to focus, and the fever that made his uniform stifling. He pressed down the feeling as best as he could. He had a job to do, a Batman to watch over he could not be sick.

They landed, and Batman kept moving while Damian stumbled to a stop. The cold in his stomach lurched, as if it had latched onto a grappling hook and was pulling itself up his throat. Damian could no longer hold back the bile, neither did he want to. He leaned against a metal box, his stomach recoiling at every movement, and threw up.

For a moment, he felt better. He tried to stand, to right himself and follow after Grayson but his stomach rebelled against even that, and he found himself doubled over again, losing the rest of Pennyworth’s dinner to the ground. He couldn't stop the his stomach as it attempted to turn itself inside out. Tears prickled at Damian’s eyes as he realized that he couldn’t control any of it. Even when his stomach felt empty, dry heaves caught his chest. His head was light, like air had been pumped into it, and his vision was blurred not only by tears, but by how everything else felt. His hand on the box was the only thing keeping him standing. Even then, his legs were wobbly and he felt his grip slip, the sweat coating his palm separating it from the metal sheet.

“Robin!” the voice preceded hands a moment before Damian pitched forward. He found himself being pulled back and set down in a lap.

“I am fine.” Damian said, unsure if Grayson even understood him or if all that had come out of his mouth was a groan.

Gloved fingers ran through his hair, pulling out tangles from sweaty strands. Damian leaned into the comfort for a moment, savoring the way Batman's glove was cool against his forehead, and invited further chilling as it brushed his hair back, revealing more skin. He was hot, too hot, and the cold felt heavenly. 

“We’re heading home.” It was Grayson’s voice, and not Batman's now. His tone was gentle, as if he were explaining leaving a party early with a tired toddler.

“I was just a bit dizzy that’s all.” Damian lied and tried to push himself up, his hands pressing against Dick’s thighs.

Both of Dick’s arms wrapped around him and pulled him back down, tucking him close to his chest. “Nope.” he hummed, “Not this time.”

Damian thought about fighting as Dick cradled him in his arms before standing, but he was tired, his head was pounding, and Grayson’s arms were so steady and strong. It wouldn't hurt to give in just this once. Wasn't Grayson always telling him he could trust him? That he didn't have to keep pushing for perfection? Besides, his stomach was still churning and he just wanted to sleep. So, he let Grayson carry him.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, embarrassed at how good the cold air felt on his forehead as Dick walked. Not that anyone but Damian would even notice how the air felt.

“You should have told me you were feeling sick.” It was a gentle reproach, without much heat behind the words.

Damian felt tears in his eyes again, but pushed them back with a sniffle. “Are you going to send me back to Mother?” 

He was suddenly sure that Grayson would, be considering it. All thoughts of Grayson telling him he could be weak fled in the wake of fear. Who wouldn’t want to send him away when Damian had shown such weakness? He couldn’t even handle a simple stomach bug, what right did he have to stay by Grayson’s side?

Dick stopped walking and Damian wished he hadn’t spoken, if only so that the cool air could continue. His older brother looked down on him, a confused frown pouting his lips.

“Do you want to go back to your mother?”

It was a silly question. Talia was the last person Damian wanted to go to for anything. If she could see him now, sick to the point he couldn’t walk, and considering calling off the rest of his nightly duties for rest, she’d be furious. She wouldn’t bother picking him up or offering words of comfort. She’d leave him there on the rooftop, his stomach torn and his throat raw from the acid escaping it. He’d have to find his own way home, if he could manage it, because weakness like an illness was not tolerated.

Damian shook his head so quickly it made him dizzy, his stomach threatening to attempt to empty itself again. One look into Grayson’s face told Damian exactly what Grayson was going to say before the words left his mouth.

“Then it’s settled, you stay.” Grayson’s arms tightened around him, and at last Damian let himself relax in them, curling closer into the security that was his brother.

* * *

 

He couldn’t believe he’d been such an idiot. Only a fool would let his guard down the way Damian had. Allowing his attention to waver from the fight because he had Grayson by his side had been stupid. _Don’t worry, we’re the best._ That’s what Batman had said a moment before they’d jumped into battle, and Damian had believed it. To the point where he’d pulled back his assault in some kind of relaxed stupor.

He was a complete fool.

Damian knew that even if they’d taken everyone down he should always be attentive. He should have secured them all just in case. The chance that one of them would wake up before they were all securely bound was mild, but still a possibility. One Damian had ignored because Grayson was there. He’d thought they were safe.

Safe. What a stupid word. Protection, ease, comfort, all words that meant the same thing, all words that define a feeling Damian could not allow himself to experience. Especially when safe meant a gun aimed at his chest. Especially when safe meant a bullet in Grayson’s thigh. 

Damian blamed himself for letting his Batman get hurt in a constant loop. While he took out the last of the men, and piled his brother into the Batmobile. It bounced across his head as he helped Pennyworth clean and stitch Grayson's wound and as he showered quickly to pull the grime of patrol off his skin. Damian was sure it radiated off him as he sat next to the gurney his brother was laid out on. 

A hand caught his own, pulling Damian’s eyes from the bunker’s wall to his brother’s face.

“I’m fine, Damian. It only grazed me.” Grayson’s voice was earnest, his face serious. A plead to Damian not to blame himself.

'Too late, I have', he thought.

Even if the words had dropped from Dick’s mouth the moment the bullet hit him Damian would have blamed himself.  He should have been paying more attention. He never should have allowed himself to feel safe enough to joke with Grayson the way they’d been. Never should have let his attention waver from the men they were subduing.

If he’d been watchful he would have caught the movement from the man, would have seen the raised gun, and acted before Grayson had to intervene. But he’d been laughing at something his brother had said and not paying even a sliver of attention to their surroundings.

“Come here.” Dick tugged on Damian’s hand.

“What?” Damian frowned, not understanding Grayson’s request.

Dick patted the spot beside him on the gurney Alfred had ordered he not leave. “I used to curl up beside Bruce when he got hurt. It always made me feel better.”

Damian tensed, pulling his hand away. “I—” he wasn’t sure how to refute the statement.

The last thing he wanted to do was be comforted. He wanted to stew on his pain and guilt and let it grow back into the hard wall that had protected him, and Grayson, before he’d allowed his older brother to worm his way past his defenses. That way next time no one would get hurt.

“If not for you, then for me?” Dick asked. “I hate sleeping alone, especially when I feel like crap.”

They both knew he was playing the guilt card, and playing it well. There was no way Damian could resist a request like that from Grayson. Even the request with no pity or blame attached would have been enough.

He nodded and let his brother hoist him from the chair and onto the bed beside him. Dick adjusted the blankets until they were both covered and immediately tugged Damian closer. His arms a balm to Damian’s guilty conscious.

“Thank you.” Dick said.

“Of course.” Damian mumbled. “But don’t expect it the next time you get yourself shot.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Dick said, even as Damian scooted closer.

* * *

Damian couldn’t breathe. No that wasn’t right, he could, it was his lungs and throat that were the problem. They burned with every breath. His head felt light, and the bunker's walls around him seemed to warp. As he stood at the staircase up to the second floor it grew longer than was possible before pulling back on itself to look like a mushroom.

He paused his foot on the first step, hand on the railing for support. He took in a deep breath, relishing the clean air as compared to the contaminated sewer gases that seemed to plague him even half an hour later. He looked up caught a shadow on the staircase and his heart jumped into his throat, Croc had returned, angry and fierce.

Before he knew it, he’d stumbled back a few steps and into someone. He jumped forward, the phantom rouge forgotten as he spun on this new threat. Grayson stood behind him, changed into a loose hoodie and sweats, his hair damp from a shower.

“What’s wrong?” Dick’s eyebrows creased into a frown.

Damian couldn’t answer right away, not when his breath was coming in rapid burning bursts. He wanted to curse himself for assuming he could function during their earlier fight with Croc without his gas mask for even a minute. But no, after his mask was lost to the scuffle, his pride had told him that he could finish the fight before he felt the effects of the reptile’s subterranean gas. It had gone on another half an hour with Grayson bailing Damian out at the last second. He hadn’t mentioned Damian’s failure, only suggested they call it early after noticing Damian’s mask was missing.

Now he could hardly tell reality from fiction, couldn’t even ascend a set of stairs without assuming he was being attacked. Anxiety pulsed in his chest next to the fire making him wish for a glass of water.

“Just a shadow on the stairs, probably yours.” Damian snapped, his slight panic feeding an unreasonable anger with Grayson.

Of course, his brother’s eyes would frown further. How put every bit of worry into those eyes, Damian could never figure out, but he did, and it sent the anxious feeling in Damian’s chest fluttering back to life. It seemed the longer Damian worked with Grayson the more worrying his brother seemed to eat at him.

He blamed it entirely on Grayson of course. The man was too soft, too kind. Damian had always thought so, and he’d proved it over and over in the months they’d been together. Time had a way of eroding even the strongest of walls, and Damian found the ones he’d thrown up against Grayson’s suffocating love worn away until he no longer found his brother’s heart insufferable, but the exact opposite.

Not that he’d ever tell the man that. No need to make his head swell any larger than it already was.

“You feeling alright?” Dick closed the distance between them, a hand going to Damian’s forehead.

He swatted away with a scowl. “I am fine, Grayson.” Except he wasn’t. His vision was swimming again and only the solid knowledge that there was only one Dick Grayson in the world convinced him that two weren’t looking at him right then. What had Croc mixed in that gas in the sewers?

Dick tilted his head at Damian, in that way he did when he didn’t believe Damian. “Your gas mask broke tonight, didn’t it?” The words came slowly, considering.

Damian tried to keep his eyes on one Grayson, but they kept darting between the two, unsure which was real. He’d caught his breath, he could figure out which Grayson was real before his brother decided that Damian needed some kind of anti-toxin or to go straight to bed. He had work to do and didn’t need to be babied tonight. He tried not to think of how much he wanted Grayson to ruffle his hair or help him up the stairs. If he lingered on those thoughts too long he was likely to be tempted to tell the truth.

He was out of time to find a proper excuse for his jumpy actions as he found himself lifted, and tucked into Dick’s chest. One of the man’s arms curled under his thighs, the other supported his back.

“What are you doing, Grayson?” He demanded.

“That sewer gas is nasty stuff.” Dick said, moving from the stairs to the elevator. He hit the button. “I remember getting hit by it when I was Robin, it took all night to shake the feeling I was being watched. Bruce even sent me right to bed.”

The doors slid open and they moved inside, Dick hitting the button for the penthouse. The elevator started up with a soft jerk.

Damian scowled up at him. “Are you sending me right to bed then?”

Dick hummed. “I thought we could read a bit, unless you’re ready to go to sleep?”

The worried fluttering in Damian’s chest told him that he would much rather read then attempt sleep just yet. He glanced at the numbers shifting upwards.

“I am halfway through that book you recommended. I have some thoughts on it that I’d been planning to discuss it with you.” He answered instead.

“Robin Hood?” Dick’s grin was bright as the elevator slid to a stop, the doors hissing open. “I thought you said it was a book for children?” Dick said stepping out.

Damian shrugged, one of his shoulders brushing Dick’s. “Your incessant nagging has its benefits.”

It was a short walk from the elevator to the couch in the living room where Grayson set Damian down. He answered Dick’s questions on his progress though the book and tried to suppress a yawn. Somehow in the time from the elevator to here the pressure had eased in Damian’s chest.

He was so relaxed he didn’t bother arguing as Grayson slid close to him, the book tugged off the coffee table where Damian had left it. He had to confirm his place as Grayson flipped through the book and began reading.

Dick’s voice was soothing, and Damian allowed himself to lean into his side. He wasn’t surprised when an arm tugged him closer. Grayson was warm, and his hoodie was soft, making his chest and easy pillow to rest against. He felt safer than he had in a long time as he lay there, tucked against his brother, the man’s soft voice lulling his racing heart into peace.


	8. Dick and Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day at the office

Dick glanced at Bruce to make sure he wasn’t looking before he jumped. It was little more than a small hop in the elevator to see if it would shake while it was ascending. He glanced over at Bruce again. He was now receiving an equally curious side eye.

“Something wrong, Chum?”

Dick gave him a wide grin, “Nope. Just checkin’ the stability of this old thing.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him. “We had it installed last year.”

“And so, safety checks are in order. You never know, B.”

“Hmm.” 

Dick nodded and thought that was the end of it. He was considering asking Bruce to jump with him, maybe the two of them could get something to shake while the elevator continued its eternal ascent, but he was pretty sure he already knew what his mentor was going to say.

He glanced back over anyway, and found Bruce still looking at him, this time with a curious frown.

“You sure it’s not nerves?”

More like excitement. Dick was absolutely brimming to see the rest of Bruce’s building. He’d thought the first floor had been great, and at B’s knowing smile he’d felt he was sure to burst with whatever waited for him up in the offices.

“I get nervous when I bring home a report card, this place is amazing. Nothing to be nervous about here.” He said, rocking on his heels.

Bruce chuckled. “That’s good, I wouldn’t want you to be nervous on your first visit.”

Dick’s stomach bounced with the elevator as it stopped, and the doors slid open. He was ready to pinwheel out of it, but he was pretty sure if he did anything to tear the suit Alfred had specially laid out for today he’d get an earful and more when he got home. He picked the boring option and stepped out with Bruce.

The moment he took in the office area his eyes went wide and he sucked in a breath.

“B.” He said. “B, this is so cool.”

He was tugging on Bruce’s sleeve and pointing at everything. Desks, lights, a coffee table that was made entirely of glass. Bruce was smiling, with a grin to match Dick’s own.

The woman seated at the reception desk looked up when they walked in and smiled at them. “Morning, Mr. Wayne, who’ve you brought to see us today?”

Bruce put a hand on Dick’s back and Dick could see him standing a little straighter. “Morning, Beverly, this is my ward, Dick Grayson.”

“Good morning Mrs. Beverly, this place is amazing.” Dick waved.

She chuckled lightly. “I’m glad to hear it. Mr. Wayne’s told us a lot about you, I’m happy we’re finally getting a chance to meet you.”

“Me too, I’m really excited to be here.”

Bruce introduced him to the other people on his floor, a Mrs. Shelly that worked in finance, Mr. Beckett who helped with advertising, Sam who ran the mail (he was closest in age to Dick, even if he was older), and Mrs. Patrice, Bruce’s very own secretary. There were a few others, but by that point Dick’s head was swimming with names and he had to work just to remember what faces belonged to who. It was almost like one of B’s training sessions for Robin, except these people were a lot nicer than the one’s Robin had to memorize.

When they finally made it to Bruce’s office Dick’s excitement had evened out to something closer to manageable, and he wasn’t ready to fly into the room. He did immediately gawk at the view the moment they were inside.

“B! You didn’t tell me you could see the whole city from here!” He gasped, darting to the window, hands plastered against the glass as he gaped.

Two hands gently pulled his palms away and tugged him back an inch or two. “Where did you think the elevator was taking us?” he asked, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The basement?”

“With you, the chances were high.” Dick spun away from the window to take in the rest of the office. “Wow.” he said, “You’re so lucky. I wanna work in an office some day.”

“You wanted to be a police officer yesterday.”

“Yeah, well they don’t get this view.” Dick said, eyes already trailing back to the skyline.

It took him a solid half hour to get bored with sitting around Bruce’s office. He hadn’t realized that Bruce was actually planning to work when he brought Dick up.

“This is what I do, Dick. I told you to bring your homework for a reason. Get started on some of that and we’ll head down for lunch a little later.” Bruce had said, face already glued to his computer screen.

Dick had sighed a great big sigh as a last ditch attempt at attention, watching Bruce the whole time. He didn’t even budge, so he gave a smaller one of defeat and collected his backpack from the corner he’d tossed it in. He curled up in one of the too big chairs across from Bruce’s desk and opened a page of science homework. Except organisms were boring when he had a real life working environment he could examine. Maybe he could sneak out and talk to one of the people in the office. They’d all been so nice, and if work was this boring they needed cheering up. Not everyone lived off broody silences like Bruce did. It was vital that he help bring up the cheer everywhere.

He gave it another five minutes and quietly shut his book before announcing he was going to get a drink of water. He received a grunt from behind the computer as permission, and slipped out the big oak door.

“Looking for a drink?” Mrs. Patrice asked him as he stepped out.

She showed him to a little table where he could make tea or pour hot coffee, they even had cocoa packets with the little marshmallows in them. He dumped one of those into the bottom of a Styrofoam cup and poured hot water over it from a spout.

“What kinds of things do you work on?” he asked her as he stirred the chocolate with a little black straw.

“I take calls for Mr. Wayne and help him plan his schedule, among other things.” she explained.

He followed her back to her desk. “That sounds a lot like what Alfred does at home. But he also cooks and keeps everything spotless, and he helps me with my homework when B’s not there. He’s really great.”

He took a small sip of his cocoa, it was still hot, but so good.

She smiled at him. “He sounds great.”

He loitered outside Bruce’s door for a second, tapping his foot and sipping tiny sips of his cocoa.

Mrs. Patrice gave him a knowing smile. “Too broody in there for you?” she asked.

He nodded.

“If you want, you can bring your stuff out here. None of us will mind.”

“Aww thanks Mrs. Patrice. I’ll be right out.” He set his cup on her desk and hurried back into the room, scooping his stuff up and giving Bruce a quick explanation before hurrying back out the door.

It started as a question about his homework, but somehow Dick found himself talking to everyone in the office soon after he’d come out to work. He’d gathered quite a crowd as he told them about the homework and how boring it was compared to other things, and someone was asking him about his hobbies. One of them mentioned the circus, which really got him talking.

Far too soon his homework was a forgotten pile on the glass table and he was eagerly showing everyone how to properly do a handstand.

Caution, and worry about the suit had him pulling the jacket off to drape over a chair before he pulled off his trick. Everyone clapped as he righted himself.

“If you think that’s cool, you should see some of the other stuff I can do.” Dick said.

The open space between offices, desks and the far wall was enough for him to cartwheel down, and he did, turning it into a few back flips just for fun.

By the time Bruce came out of his office Dick was hanging from one of more sturdy fixtures and describing the best way to hold one’s self upside down for long periods.

“Dick.” the word was measured, careful, not quite a Batman chide but close enough that Dick gulped.

He did his best thinking upside down, but even that didn’t help him find words when he saw Bruce’s face as the man hurried over to him. White, washed out, and very gradually turning either to panic or anger, Dick couldn’t tell. He didn’t really want it to turn into either.

He tried to scramble from his place, to turn himself over and climb down, but his rush made him slip on the unfamiliar metal of the light and he fell. He landed in Bruce’s arms, and to a chorus of sighs.

He looked up at his guardian’s face and tried his best grin. “Heya, B. Good catch.”

“Hrn.” It wasn’t angry, and that was something.

Then again he could be holding back because he was at work. Dick always tried to be on his best behavior around people he respected, even if it didn’t always work. He figured this was Bruce’s way of doing the same thing.

“Everyone was asking about my circus stuff, I figured a demonstration was in order.”

“Not on the furniture.”

“Well it wasn’t at first.”

“Dick.” he sighed.

“Bruce.” Dick sighed back. “It was fine.”

Behind them there was a general consensus of agreement. “He’s been an angel.” “Really, Mr. Wayne Dick’s been a delight.” “He didn’t break anything.”

Dick could see the defeat on Bruce’s face. He reached up and patted his cheek. “Just plan something more interesting for next time.”

Bruce set him down with another sigh. “Don’t worry, I will.”

Dick grinned. “That’s the spirit. Now, is it time for lunch? I’m starving. Sam says the cafeteria’s awesome. ”

“Mr. Sam.”

Dick rolled his eyes, “Mr. Sam said it’s great, now come on, all the good stuff’ll be gone if we don’t hurry. That’s what happens at school, especially on nugget day.” He pulled Bruce’s arm back towards the elevator.

Bruce offered to take Dick out somewhere in the elevator and Dick insisted on trying the cafeteria. Bruce might be tired of it, but Dick wouldn’t miss a chance to eat there. He could convince Bruce to take him out somewhere any time, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Or at least once in a very long time. After Bruce caught him performing Dick was fairly sure he wasn’t going to be accompanying him to work again any time soon.

There were even more people to meet in the cafeteria, proving Dick’s decision to eat there to be a good one. Everyone seemed surprised to see Bruce, and Dick learned that his mentor tended to skip lunch or order up to his office.

“You should come down more.” Dick said, after they were finished and were carrying their trays to put away. “The people seem to like you, and you’d have a better chance at getting to know everyone.”

“You’re not wrong there.” Bruce agreed. “It would be a great opportunity to get to know more of the staff.”

Dick nodded. “Plus, you can stop lying to Alfie when you get back. He’d hate to learn you’d been skipping meals.”

“That,” Bruce said, taking Dick’s tray from him and setting them both down, “stays between you and me.”

“Can we get ice cream before we head back up?” Dick asked.

“Of course.” Bruce told him.

“Then your secret is safe with me.” Dick winked.

Dick was still working on his cone as they went back up to Bruce’s floor, and had finished munching on the cone by the time they stepped off.

“You know.” Dick said, licking his fingers. “That elevator takes forever.”

Bruce chuckled. “We are high up.”

Dick shrugged. “I bet it could go faster.”

“Do not try to speed the elevator up, Dick.” He paused. “Do you want to work out here or back with me some more?”

“Out here. Everyone here’s more talkative than you are.”

“That’s fine, get your homework done and don’t talk so much you keep anyone else from doing their jobs.” Bruce told him and started for his office again before stopping. “Don’t let me catch you hanging from anything else, alright?”

“Fine.” Dick sighed, then muttered. “Spoilsport.”

By the time the day was over Dick had both finished his homework and talked himself into exhaustion. He was curled up on a chair by the table, head pillowed on his backpack, half asleep and still chattering when Bruce came back out.

“Hey, Dickie.” Bruce’s voice was low, a hand on his head to rouse him. “Sorry things went so late today, I’d meant to finish up early.”

“It’s alright.” Dick yawned, and lifted his head. “We headin’ home?”

“Yeah.” Bruce said. He picked Dick’s backpack up and slung it over his shoulder before he scooped Dick up.

Dick wrapped his arms around Bruce’s neck and yawned into his shoulder. “Hey, B?”

“Yeah?” Dick could feel Bruce’s voice rumble his chest.

“Today was great. Thanks for bringing me along.”

“We’ll have to do it again the next time you're out of school for a day.”

“That’d be swell, B. Next time I promise—” he yawned again, “not to hang off anything.”

There was a low chuckle. “Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”

Dick smiled and snuggled closer to Bruce, happy with the success of the day.

 


	9. Jason and Stephanie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Done for the prompt: Not only am I a late bloomer, I’m late for everything

Stephanie had a list of favorite things. It was an ever changing competition for the top slots, but waffles, music with a great beat, and Tim when he was sleepy were often top contenders for spot one. The current top of her list was having her hair worked on by someone else. Her scalp tingled under the soft press of a hairbrush against it, and at the gentle tug of Jason’s fingers parting her hair to wrap around a curling wand.

He’d been at it for fifteen minutes, the repetitive soothing motion so relaxing Stephanie found her eyes growing heavy with sleep. On a normal day she might let herself fall asleep while Jason worked on her hair, but tonight she was heading to one of Bruce's fancy parties. She'd hate to miss the free food and entertainment that came from making fun of the men and women attending. She shifted a little to wake herself up and Jason hummed.

“Getting sleepy?” She could hear the grin in his voice, a glance into the mirror in front of them confirmed it. She also noted the ringlets starting to form on the left side of her head.

“Where’d you learn to do formal hair?” she asked, avoiding his question.

Jason pulled a curl off the wand and let it drop, fluffing it to add a bit of volume before taking another piece of hair to start wrapping around the wand. “My mom. She used to like having her hair played with, it relaxed her.”

His answer was smooth, unruffled by lingering sadness or the weight of history. It was a fact, and as much as Stephanie knew it must affect him, he hadn’t shown it. She bit the inside of her cheek and tried to come up with an appropriate response.

Jason chuckled releasing the next curl. “There’s no eggshells to walk on with this conversation, Steph. It’s fine. A good memory.”

She nodded, before realizing it would pull her hair from his hand. “Sorry.” She grimaced as he had to readjust the curl.

He shrugged and they lapsed into silence for another two curls before Jason spoke back up. “She would have loved these parties. She'd adore getting dolled up and then helping me get ready.”

“She would have taken you?” Stephanie asked turning her attention to Jason’s face in the mirror.

He grinned. “Course. She loved doing things with me, she also would have known I’d be exhausted by the end of the night. Bruce found that out quick enough too.” He said thoughtfully.

Stephanie chuckled. She could picture Jason dancing around the parties, chatting up the different socialites and sneaking food under the tables. She could also see Bruce good naturedly trying to corral him until he gave up and let Jason wear himself out.

“You know—” She said after a moment, “You were pretty small as Robin.”

“Yeah?” he said wrapping another strand of hair around the wand.

Stephanie couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea of tiny Jason. She’d seen pictures of him around the manor, almost as small as Damian when he’d arrived. Now? He was taller than Bruce by a hair. Even by the small amount it was a huge leap.

“I’m just trying to figure out how you got so big, I mean did you grow a lot after, well—” she broke off. She knew Jason didn’t mind bringing up his death, but she didn’t want to be insensitive either. A part of her said it was fine since she’d been through the same thing, well not the same same, but still.

“After I came back to life?” He asked, an eyebrow raised in the mirror.

Stephanie gave him an embarrassed smile. “Yeah, after you came back.”

He took a minute to think, and Stephanie started to worry that she’d done something wrong. She regretted even asking, it wasn’t her place to ask. She wasn’t even Jason’s sibling, so why should she butt into his personal life so deeply?

“I came back like this.” He said. “My guess? It had something to do with the pit Talia put me it.”

Stephanie saw her eyes go wide. It must have been strange for Jason to not only find himself alive and in a strange place, but to find himself grown up. “Was that strange?”

He gave her an exaggerated grimace in the mirror. “Totally. I tripped over my own two feet more times than I cared to admit the first few weeks. Don’t even get me started on how many times I bumped my head on things.”

She giggled. “I guess we could call you a bit of a late bloomer then?”

Jason grinned back at her. “Not only am I a late bloomer, I’m late for everything.”

He paused after dropping the next curl to check his watch. “Speaking of, we’re going to be late tonight. The party starts in a few minutes.”

“What? No. Jay, come on! I wanted to be on time tonight. Cass is going to be waiting on me.”

He shrugged, “You want to go with a chunk of hair uncurled?”

Stephanie returned her attention to her own hair and wanted to laugh, Jason was done with everything but the front section. She’d look crazy if they left that minute. “Nah, finish up. It’s better to be fashionably late anyway. Bruce always gets mad when I do that.”

Jason chuckled. “Fashionably late it is.”


	10. Bruce, Damian, and Dick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shrunken sweaters can still be snuggly

“Hrn”

Damian heard the disapproving sound as he passed his father’s door. He stopped, stepped backwards, and peered through the cracked door. There wasn’t much to see beyond Father’s wide shoulders. Encased in black, a turtleneck, Father’s favorite. Damian was learning to like turtlenecks. Not, of course, because they were Father’s preferred fashion, but because they were of a pleasing style.

Still, sometimes the way the tall collars wrapped around his neck bothered him. He had initially viewed them as suffocating. They rose taller than any collars he’d worn with Mother, tickling his chin. His chin. What kind of design made fabric rise that high?

They had their uses. Damian would admit to being happy for the tall protection from Gotham’s freezing temperatures. The barrier that turtlenecks created between the frigid wind and Damian’s skin was a effective one. For that, Damian could begin to get used to them, and had. He was not at the point where he would wear them as often as Father did, but he did not shun them as he once would.

Father’s arms shifted, he made the same disapproving sound at whatever had caught his attention. Damian leaned forward, then allowed his feet to carry him into the room. Curiosity won over his desire to return to his room for his sketchbook. All thoughts of attempting to draw Pennyworth’s garden dusted in snow were swept from his mind in the wake of his desire to know the source of Father’s ire.

All the same, Damian had the sudden thought to silence his steps. Father was obviously preoccupied. This was his chance. His opportunity to sneak up on the Batman. He crouched, movements silent, helped by the plush carpet. He schooled his breathing into slow, quiet breaths.

He waited until he was right behind his father. Opened his mouth to speak.

“You’re first mistake was pausing outside my door.”

Damian swore.

“Damian.”

“Tt.”

He stepped around his father to stand beside him. He scowled down at his shoes. Interest in Father’s ire replaced by his failure to accomplish something so silly as sneaking up on his father.

“You did good once you were in.” Father amended.

Damian looked up to meet a smile, and allowed one on his own face. “I will do better next time.”

Father nodded. Damian’s eyes flitted to the item in his hands. He had a small black sweater held in one of his hands. It was not a turtleneck. It looked soft, comfortable, and familiar. Damian frowned at it.

“Did my laundry get mixed in with yours?”

Father shook his head, moving the sweater from one hand to the other. He eyed Damian.

“Somehow.” He started, “This missed being pulled from the dryer.” He held the sweater up for Damian to see.

It’s familiarity clicked in Damian’s brain then. It was Father’s. But that couldn’t be possible. Father did not fit in Damian sized sweaters. Grayson sized, perhaps. Todd sized was more likely. Damian could lose himself in one of Father’s sweaters, but the opposite could not be said.

“I see.” He said.

It had been one of Father’s favorites. Given to him by Grayson on a whim. Damian knew it was very soft, he’d fallen asleep with his cheek pressed into it once. Father looked him over. He raised an eyebrow. Held the sweater up appraisingly in front of Damian.

“Looks about your size.”

Damian raised an eyebrow at him. “Is there no way to return it to it’s proper size?” he asked, his voice tentative.

Father shook his head, “Not without ruining it. I’m afraid I won’t be able to wear it again.”

“Hey guys.”

Damian and Bruce looked over to find Grayson silhouetted in the doorway. He caught sight of the sweater and grinned.

“B! Did you like my sweater so much you got one for Damian?” he strolled in, “You know, if you’d asked I could have picked one up for him.”

Damian glanced at Father, his face was doing that thing where he was trying to decide what emotion to display. He settled on a frown.

“It is Father’s.” Damian said. “It was accidentally shrunk.”

Grayson’s mouth opened into an ‘O’, his smile widening again after a moment. “Ha, well at least there’s finally someone to fit into all of your sweaters you keep getting ‘accidentally’ shrunk again.”

Father’s frown turned up, “Don’t sound so suspicious, it’s not my fault they end up in the dryer instead of at the dry cleaners. But you are right, it’s been a while since you were small enough to fit in any of them. Jason and Tim were always either too small or too big for them.”

Damian raised an eyebrow, “Is this a mistake you practice often?”

“Only as often as someone gifts him something he doesn’t like.” Grayson answered, with a twinkle in his eyes.

Bruce rolled his eyes, “He’s delusional, I liked this sweater. Still, it happens more often than you’d think. Want to try it on?”

“This one maybe, but the same can’t be said about that garish green and orange thing you got last year.” Grayson said.

Damian ignored the minor squabble ebbing and flowing between his father and brother and took the sweater in his hands. The material was softer than Damian remembered it. Close examination revealed that it might be a touch too big for him, but there was something comforting in the idea of being able to grow into it. Besides, it was a gift from his father, and an accidental gift from his oldest brother.

“I believe I do.” 


	11. Dick, Cass, and Damian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: No, no, it’s okay, I’ll be your bridge. You can walk all over me

Dick was used to waking up in pain. Stab wounds, broken bones, and sore muscles from a stressful patrol were all old hat to him. Waking up with an ache in his back he couldn’t quite explain was a different issue. He hadn’t patrolled the night before. He’d gone to bed early. And he hadn’t woken up in a strange position, like he sometimes did when Damian curled into his back after sneaking in to take refuge with him on a particularly bad night.

The cause, he learned, was a tablet shoved under his mattress. Dick scowled at it and felt a little like the unfortunate princess from the old fairy tale, unknowingly sleeping on a foreign object and waking up bruised. Except he wouldn’t be getting a spouse as a reward. All he’d get if he complained was teasing from his siblings. He made a mental note to figure out who put the cursed tablet under his mattress. His money was on Damian, hiding it from Tim either as revenge or a prank, but he wouldn’t rule out any of his family members. He stood, cracked his back, and prepared himself to make it through the day.

He made it exactly three hours before he started drooping and sought out pain medication. Two hours later Cassandra found him lying on the ground in the manor’s living room. The pain pills had not helped and he’d decided to be done with everything for the day, the floor a temporary comfort to his aching back. Even a nice bath filled to the brim with soothing bath salts was too much effort for him at this point. The floor required nothing of him.

She leaned over him and frowned. “Back problems?”

He nodded, unwilling to move further than that.

“Want me to help?”

Dick gave her a slit eyed once over. He wasn’t sure what Cass would think of as helping. She knew every pressure point on a body, and how to incapacitate a man using them, so it stood to reason that she could also use them to help ease his pain, right?

After a moment he nodded again. She considered him, as he lay flat on his back, one arm pressed to the ground, the other flung over his forehead in what he’d thought was relaxing until it wasn’t. Now it just ached like his back, and he was too tired to move it.

He knew what she was going to ask next and he did not want to answer. No matter how it would help. “How’d it happen?”

“Patrol.” 

“Liar.” Came Damian's immediate response.

Dick craned his head upwards to find Damian walking into the room. His eyebrow raised in confusion at Dick and Cass’s positions. Dick could understand why his little brother was so quick to point out his lie. Him missing patrol had meant that Tim would cycle in to work with Damian and Bruce instead of Dick. Anyone with half a brain knew which option his baby brother would have preferred to work with on patrol.

“I slept on Tim’s tablet.” Dick admitted, hoping to keep Damian from questioning him further about the previous evening. He’d taken it off for a date. His relationships were something Damian typically didn’t mind, as long as they didn’t interfere with brother time. Except, in his brother’s mind last night would have defiantly been considered brother time, and so an interference.

Dick didn’t have to worry about dealing with post-date questions as his little brother suddenly looked guilty. His earlier question of the tablet culprit was answered now too. He gave Damian a large, dramatic sigh and held his arm out to him. “Don’t worry Dames, your attempt to pick on Tim only cost me a day of pain.” He said it with a smile, and in a tone so dramatic his brother wouldn’t get the wrong idea and think he was actually blaming him.

He still probably should have kept his mouth shut. Damian gave the tiniest of flinches at them and scowled. “Drake should have been more respectful about patrol. Still, I did not intend it to cause you harm. I am sorry, Grayson.”

He shrugged from his place on the floor and looked over his two siblings. “If you want you could help ease the crick out of my back. Cass has offered, and I think two can be better than one.”

Cass smiled and threw an arm around Damian. “It will be fun.” She said, “I was planning to adjust him.”

Damian frowned at her. “And what about after?”

They lost Dick quickly with their discussion. He’d had no idea that Damian or Cass knew so much about chiropractic care. If that’s what they’d even started talking about. Dick didn’t care too much to try and translate the terms they were tossing back and forth at each other. Cass more hand motions than words, and Damian’s frown deepening the longer they talked. An ache had been creeping along Dick’s lower back, and the lull in his part of the conversation let his mind wander back to it.

“No, no, it’s ok.” He said, stopping Damian mid-correction, “You can walk all over me.”

“What are you talking about?” Damian asked.

“My back, someone should just walk on it. That should bridge your argument, it’s easy and probably chiropractic.”

Both his siblings turned their attention back to him with surprised looks. It was the first time Dick had seen Cass seemed disappointed in him that day. She hadn’t even tossed him the look for getting hurt outside of patrol. Damian looked offended at the idea.

“I don’t understand, Grayson. Wouldn’t walking on you do more harm than good?” Damian asked.

Dick shook his head, his hair scratching against the carpet, and catching static. He reached up to brush it down as he explained. “My dad used to have me do it to him all the time. He’d have a back ache and I’d walk on it then he’d be better.”

Cass shook her head. “It won’t help.”

Dick looked to Damian who seemed to at least be considering it. He gave his little brother his best doe eyed look. “Come on, Lil' D. It’s worth a try.”

Damian shifted from one foot to the other and frowned at him so Dick tried a different approach. “It won’t hurt, I promise. Plus, it’s the fastest way to make my back feel better and it’s really starting to hurt.” he was laying the guilt on a little thick, but he also wasn’t lying. His back was killing him.

“Alright. But I will step aside the moment you seem to be in pain.”

Dick grinned and rolled over onto his stomach. “Shoes off please, other than that I’m ready when you are.”

“This is a bad idea.” Cass said, as Damian slipped his shoes off and stepped gingerly onto Dick’s back.

The kid stood there for a moment, doubting the validity of Dick’s ‘cure’. Finally, he grumbled. “What now?”

“Just walk. All over my back.” Dick directed.

Damian stepped forward, and backward, his first few steps hesitant and unbalanced, before he seemed to grow comfortable. His light weight and the pressure from his feet were easing the knots out of Dick’s back. After a few moments Damian stopped, uncertain.

“Shall I continue?”

Dick looked up. Cass was frowning at them both, disapproval evident on her face. “It’s working.” Dick said defensively. “I’m feeling better.”

She hummed at him and Damian stepped off Dick’s back. “Try it, Cain. If anything you will get to experience literally walking on one of your family members.”

Cass rolled her eyes, but stepped forward. “It’s nothing new.” She said and stepped onto Dick’s back.


	12. Dick and Bruce

“I don’t understand.” Dick pouted as he sat on a gurney in the cave, arm outstretched as Alfred worked tight, even stitches into the gash on it.

“What?” Batman asked.

He hadn’t pulled back his cowl yet, and right now to Dick he was more Batman than Bruce. He was angry. The ‘what’ little more than a grunt, his jaw tight as he planted himself at the cave’s computer probably to pound the anger into the computer keys instead of something less solid.

“I don’t understand why I’m in trouble when the night was a success.” Dick continued, he knew he was digging the hole deeper but he’d dealt with a broody Batman the whole ride back to the cave and the night hadn’t even been a failure.

“We saved those people, they’re alive because of what we did.”

He winced as Alfred tied off the last stitch in his arm and moved to bandaging it.

The clicking of keys stopped and Batman pushed back away from the computer. His cowl was still up, still a wall between him and Dick. Dick wondered who’s benefit that was for. He thought about asking and decided it against it, that would only make the fight worse.

“Not we. You. You disobeyed a direct order and ran in without backup.”

“Yeah,” Dick said, eyes narrowing, “I did it to save that family. They were gonna die, B. Someone had to help.”

“I had it under control. If you’d listened—”

“If I’d listened they’d be dead.” Dick interrupted, anger rushing to his face. “You didn’t see the other guy, or the gun. Your plan didn’t account for that.”

Bruce had been on the other side of the building, and sure he’d told Dick to wait, told him that he had things ready. But Dick couldn’t just sit by and do nothing when there’d been people in danger. The danger hadn’t been there when Bruce had made his plan. Dick knew he liked to think he had a backup plan for everything, but not even Batman was perfect. He was going to mess up at some point, and Dick hadn’t wanted it to be right then.

So yeah, he’d disobeyed orders, but he’d saved the family.

Alfred finished bandaging his arm in the silence and Dick thanked him with a quick side hug. The man smiled at him and moved to start cleaning up, probably more to give Dick and Bruce privacy than an urgent need to tidy.

“You don’t know that.” Batman said, standing.

“Really?” the question came out sharper than Dick intended.

Batman walked over to where Dick was. “They would have been fine without you, the plan didn’t change because there was one more man in the room, Dick. It would have still worked.”

Dick crossed his arms and ignored the pins and needles feeling around the one recently patched up. “It might not have.” He grumbled, then turned a glare on his father.

“In fact, I was sure it wasn’t going to.”

In that moment, he hated how everything had to be done how Batman wanted it done. Hated the rules they had to follow, the order in which things got done. He was sure those rules would ruin things one day, he didn’t know how yet, but he knew it would happen, and he hated it. Most of all he hated talking to the cowl.

At least Bruce listened. Batman didn’t.

“I know what I saw, B. You aren’t always going to get it right, what if you don’t? What if someone dies because that’s just how things are?” He argued.

“You know why things are the way they are, and why they have to be that way!” Batman snapped.

Dick flinched back, hurt more by the words than he’d been by the bullet that had grazed him that night. His anger fizzled as fast as it had flickered into life and he sniffled, sudden tears reddening his cheeks where irritation had.

Now the cowl got shoved back and Dick could see the instant regret in Bruce’s eyes. “I didn’t mean it that way, Dick.”

He sighed, like that puff of air could release his anger and frustration. Maybe for Bruce it did, though it had never worked for Dick. At least Dick was talking to his father again instead of his partner.

“We do things this way so you don’t get hurt.” He told him, his voice gentler this time, a hand going to Dick’s uninjured arm.

“It’s to protect as many people as we can, and that includes you and me. What good is it if you or I end up hurt or lose our lives because of a mistake? We can’t help anyone that way. You understand that, right?”

Dick nodded, not trusting his voice not to quaver.

Bruce’s hand rubbed his arm for a moment before he pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry I yelled. You scared me tonight, Dick. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you kiddo.”

“Sorry, B. I’ll do better next time.” He said, returning the hug. All the irritation and built up mess in him thawing with Bruce’s warm arms around him.

He still wasn’t going to promise he wouldn’t ignore Bruce or that he’d always listen. But he would try, he’d do better and trust his partner more in the field. He couldn’t discount doing what he thought was right, but that didn't mean he had to always rush in either. Not that he was going to tell Bruce that just yet.

Bruce pulled away and smiled. “You did good this time, even if you’re listening failed a bit.”

Dick sniffled again and returned the smile. “Al calls it ‘selective hearing’.”

Bruce chuckled. “That sounds about right, come on I think it’s about time for bed. Maybe some sleep will help cure you of that particular ailment.”

Dick hopped off the gurney, with Bruce’s hands around his waist just to be sure he didn’t fall, and followed him out of the cave.

“I dunno B.” He said, as they waited on the elevator. “Al says you never grew out of it.”


	13. Dick and Damian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during Dick and Damian's Batman and Robin run

The elevator pinged and let Damian off into the main part of the loft. He adjusted the papers in his hands and started towards the kitchen. Hopefully, Grayson could help him figure out these calculations. He’d been fighting with them down in the bunker for hours and the numbers were starting to swim in his vision.

“Grayson I need your--” Damian stopped short walking into the kitchen as he caught sight of his brother.

Dick was crouched at the bar, a bowl cupped in one hand, the other furiously shoveling cereal from it, to his mouth with a spoon. He watched as his brother chewed for a few seconds, swallowed, and dumped another spoonful of what Damian thought might be frosted flakes into his mouth in smooth cycles.

“What are you doing?”

“Can’t stop.” Dick said around a mouthful of cereal, “It‘ll get soggy.”

Well, that’s what Damian guessed he’d said. What it sounded like was “ant op, I’ll et oggy”

Damian frowned at him and waited. Watching as the bowl’s contents were devoured faster than Damian believed anything should be eaten. At last, Grayson leaned back, metal spoon clattering against ceramic as he dropped it. He closed his eyes and sighed.

Damian tapped his foot, “Tt, have you finished?”

Dick opened one eye and grinned at him.

In response, Damian rolled his eyes.

His brother sat up straight, “You’ve obviously never had to race the clock that is frosted flakes in milk.”

“It is not something I plan on doing.” Damian told him.

Grayson’s grin widened, “Don’t judge it if you haven’t tried it.”

Damian stepped forward and pulled himself up onto one of the stools at the bar. He dropped his papers on the empty counter before him, “What were you doing eating cereal at two in the afternoon? Pennyworth will be displeased if he knows you’ve spoiled your dinner.”

“We both know I haven’t spoiled anything.” Grayson told him, “Besides, I was hungry. Cereal was easy, and just filling enough I’ll still be able to eat as much of Alfred’s dinner as I want.”

Damian huffed and side eyed Grayson’s empty bowl. He would not admit it, but the sugary snack was appealing to him, even under the threat of it getting soggy quickly.

“What’s brought you up from the bunker? Did you figure out the problem with the car?”

Damian scowled, “No. That is the reason I’ve come up, I need a second set of eyes on my calculations.”

He was mortified when his stomach decided to rumble and gurgle. He was not that hungry. Grayson’s stupid snack had inspired his body to rebel. He’d had breakfast, there was no reason for his stomach to assume he was hungry.

Grayson shifted, and stood, “How about this. You race the frosted flake timer and I’ll look over your calculations.”

Damian rolled his eyes, but agreed. Soon he was faced with a bowl of cereal sitting in front of him, a spoon in his hand, and Grayson standing over him eagerly waiting. His brother held a carton of milk above the bowl, waiting for the go.

Damian had no idea why Grayson was so eager to have him try this, or why he was so particular about when the milk went in but at this point he really wanted the snack. He rolled his eyes up to Grayson.

“Go for it.”

His brother poured the milk at the same time as he turned on a timer. Damian rolled his eyes again, but mixed his cereal in with the milk and started in on it. He could feel eyes on him as Grayson was watching him instead of looking over his calculations like he’d promised.

Damian ignored him, and set into the snack. He was unsurprised to find it crunchy at first. Then, the speed at which the food began to dissolve and grow mushy did surprise him. The flakes closest to the milk began to fall apart before the ones on top, making Damian increase the speed he was eating. He stirred everything again, trying to get the cereal evenly coated.

“Not so easy is it?” Grayson asked.

Damian shot him a glare, but didn’t stop eating. Grayson didn’t stop smiling at him. He was giving him that knowing ‘I told you so look’. Damian paused his eating for a moment to turn his full attention to him.

“Were you not going to look at my calculations?”

“Right, right. I did say that.” Grayson said, making no move to pick up Damian’s papers.

Damian huffed and turned back to his food. There were a few edible bites left of Damian’s cereal before it was all mush. His milk had taken on a grainy beigeish sort of color. He pushed the bowl away with a frown.

“I agree that this cereal is difficult to eat.” he allowed.

Dick laughed, “And I’ll agree these calculations are off, how come you missed squaring this one?”

He pointed at something on the paper and Damian scowled at it, of course he’d missed that.

“I should have asked you sooner.”

“And risk interrupting me as soon as I started eating?” Grayson shook his head, “No way, kiddo. Your timing was good.”

Damian rolled his eyes, “Tell me, how quickly do you need to eat this cereal in order to enjoy it all?”

“That, Lil’ D, is a practiced art.”


	14. Tim and Damian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: That is not a dog (with bonus Jon)

Tim often found himself tired. It was the unfortunate side effect that came from the combination of working at a major company, being a vigilante, and trying to have a social life. He emphasized trying since anything done with Steph usually ended up in the opposite of a social life: scandal and outrageous schemes.

Today had been both, the press had a field day with Steph’s sudden decision to do a Disney song flash mob in front of the courthouse, and Tim was still picking confetti out of his hair. Where she’d gotten it from he had no idea, he was just happy it hadn’t been glitter, or an attempt to recreate Hamilton. He flicked another piece to the ground as he shuffled to his bedroom door and opened it.

One advantage to being as tired as he was, was the knowledge that as soon as his head hit his pillow he’d be out. A disadvantage, he found staring into the mess that was his room, was that he’d started seeing things. It was the only explanation to what lay beyond his door.

“Stop it you fool, we aren’t here for–” Damian broke off and froze mid-stalk to look at Tim, his eyes saucer-wide. In one hand he held a walkie talkie, and the other Tim’s favorite blue sweater.

Tim wasn’t sure he’d heard right until he spotted the huge lump on the bed. Only half covered by his comforter, in what Tim could only guess was an attempt at hiding, Goliath crouched, an equally caught look on his face.

The first words out of Damian’s mouth were a jumbled: “Don’t tell Pennyworth.”

If Tim didn’t know him better he would have thought the kid sounded pleading. It certainly went with his huge eyes and shocked expression. But he did know Damian, and knew that the plea was less because he was worried about Alfred’s wrath and more to do with his plans being interrupted.

“At this point, Damian, I’m not even sure what I’d be telling him?” He posed it as a question to his younger brother and tilted his head as the items in Damian’s hands. He was too tired to get angry. Instead he found himself curious to find out what was going on.

Damian’s feet snapped together as he straightened, both hands going behind his back. Behind him the sweater swung wildly for a moment, looking like a hostage flopping around in an attempt at escape. The wild look on his face was replaced by calculated calm.

“Nothing?”

“Try again.”

Damian scowled.

Tim raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. He wasn’t so out of it he’d let Damian get away with whatever it was he was trying to do. His eye caught his drapes fluttering in the evening breeze from the open window. He vaguely remembered that Damian was grounded, it had something to do with him rushing off on his own on patrol two nights ago. At least Tim thought that was the reason, with Damian it could be anything. Of course it would be something like that. When had Damian ever accepted grounding? The determined set to Damian’s eyes told him his brother had listened for all of half a second before setting his mind to working around Bruce’s punishment.

“So you’re sneaking out? That never works, you know.” Tim sighed.

Damian’s scowl fell into more of a frown at his words and he shrugged. Tim decided not to push him. If the gremlin wanted to get caught Tim was fine with it. Just not in his room. He still hadn’t gotten to sleep. And after having Damian’s bat-dragon thing in his bed he knew he’d at least have to change the sheets.

He decided to change tactics. “I’ve told you before that my bed is strictly reserved for dogs.”

After Alfred the cat had torn up his sheets and Alfred the butler chewed Tim out about it, he’d put his foot down. He’d had enough of Damian’s pets wandering through his personal space. Titus was the exception, Tim had never had a problem with the dog. They got along well enough, and it was hard to deny the pooch much when he'd gone the Apokolips with them. 

Damian inched over in an attempt to hide Goliath’s hulking form. 

Tim rolled his eyes upward. “That.” He pointed at Goliath who looked scandalized at being called out. “Is not a dog. I might be tired, but I’m not that tired.”

Goliath shifted on the bed, and the comforter slipped off him and fell to the ground. Damian glanced back to glare at him and Tim felt a bit bad for pushing things. Only a bit. He really was tired, and considering just calling Alfred to haul off the boy and his bat dragon thing. But he remembered being Robin and pushing things with Bruce. He at least owed it to Damian to figured out why he was sneaking out.

“Do I want to know why you picked my room to hide out in?” he asked.

Static buzzed from the walkie still held behind Damian’s back and both of them started. Goliath cocked an ear but stayed comfortably curled on Tim’s bed. Yeah, he’d totally be changing the sheets before sleeping in it.

“Hey Damian, I’m here. What room did you say you were in again?” It was faint but Tim could make out the voice of Damian’s youngest, and newest, friend Jon Kent.

Another 'caught' look sparked in Damian’s eyes for a moment before determination set in. Tim hadn’t blinked before his brother spun on his heel, the sweater flapping with him as he made for the window. As fast as Damian was, Tim’s reflexes were faster and he grabbed a hold of the sweater a moment before it was out of reach and yanked.

Damian stumbled back and spun on him. “Let go, Drake. I will not be hampered by your interference.”

“There is nothing you could need my favorite sweater for, so you let go and I don’t care what you do.” Tim said, refusing to let up his grip even as Damian tugged on the top.

Damian opened his mouth to argue but stopped when Jon himself appeared at the window, a huge grin on his face. “Found it!” he frowned at Tim before looking at Damian. “I thought you said your brother was out?”

“Plans changed.” Damian grumbled before stumbling back as the sweater in his hands was released.

Tim dropped it when he noticed the state Jon was in. He couldn’t see his feet but he was sure Jon was soaked head to toe. His dark hair dripped water onto his washed out white tee. The shirt was sticking to his skin, and bunched up from where Jon had apparently tried to wring it out.

“You already snuck out.” Tim said piecing things together.

“Yes and this idiot–”

“Hey!” Jon argued.

Damian rolled his eyes. “Jon thought it would be a good idea to play some inane game with Goliath.”

Jon climbed over the window and into the room rolling his own eyes. “It’s tug-o-war, Damian. I told you. And Goliath enjoyed it.”

“Until you both ended up in the lake.” Damian shot back.

“Which again, we enjoyed.” Jon said, as if Damian were being a nag.

Then Jon’s words hit him and he looked back at Goliath. Sure enough on this look he realized that the red fuzzball was also dripping wet. Not as badly as Jon was, but enough that Tim’s comforter was a darker shade all around Goliath. He was definitely not sleeping in it.

“You know what?” Tim said and both boys paused in their bickering to look back at him. “Take the sweater Jon. I don’t need it that badly. Don’t soak my books either of you.” He eyed both Goliath and Jon. “You two work out, whatever it is you’re dealing with, I’m too tired to play peacemaker.”

With that he turned and strolled back out of his room, pausing in the doorway for a moment, "Oh, and I'm going to sleep in your bed Damian. It's only fair since you've ruined mine for the night." 

He ignored Damian's protests, and Jon's sparked chatter as he made his way to Damian's room, flopping face first into the bed when he got in there. He wiggled to get comfortable, then a moment later was joined by Titus climbing up onto the bed with him. The dog seemed confused for a moment, but settled in when Tim reached a hand out to scratch behind his hears. Tim closed his eyes and settled in to sleep at last. 


	15. Bruce, Jason, Steph, Damian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaos at Costco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by whore4batfam on tumblr

Bruce wasn’t entirely sure how he’d found himself in this situation. He was standing in Costco, staring at Jason and Stephanie as they stole (for that was the only word he could come up with to describe the scene before him) samples. Steph with her purse open wide, and Jason scooping still hot chicken sliders into wax paper before tucking them into her bag.

They’d made their rounds as they collected the groceries Alfred had sent them for, trying everything once before moving on. Some of the boxed foods even ended up in their cart, edamame chosen by Damian, fried tacos for Steph, and some kind of instant coffee Jason swore Tim would love.

When they’d circled back a second time Bruce had assumed it was because one of his kids had forgotten something they actually wanted. That’s when his two supposedly responsible (and well fed) wards started stuffing their pockets.

He cleared his throat, “You do know we can just buy a package, right?”

Jason moved down the line to the pot sticker samples Bruce had favored fifteen minutes earlier. He glanced up at Bruce and rolled his eyes. From behind him Steph shoved him forward, towards the table and his second eldest.

“Hush rich boy and open your pockets.”

Caught by surprise, Bruce found himself opening up his jacket for Jason to dump food into his inside pocket. He squirmed a bit, trying to pull away from them without stepping on any toes or knocking the food all over the place.

“Careful when you walk so you don’t break anything open.” Jason grinned at him before holding up a hand for a high five.

Bruce gave it to him, still a bit stunned by the events taking place around him. Jason’s grin widened before he turned and strolled further down the aisle towards another table empty of employee but filled with still steaming food.

Where was everyone? Minutes ago Bruce hadn’t been able to walk without stepping over red vested people. Now everywhere he looked there were only shoppers, not a single helpful employee in sight.

Bruce’s heart rate jumped not quite to double, but close enough as he realized that Damian was nowhere to be seen. He’d been by his side the entire trip, even allowing Bruce to hold his hand when they ran into overexcited people, eager to meet The Bruce Wayne and doubly eager to pinch the cheeks of the ten year old by his side.

“Where’s Dam—” the words broke as a laugh broke through the 90s rock playing overhead.

Bruce swiveled his head to see a cart hurtling towards them, empty of anything but his youngest. Damian’s face was light with a wild grin as he blew past Bruce, Jason, and Steph. Behind him came a stampede of red, employees chasing breathlessly after the kid.

From his side, Bruce heard Jason whistle. “Remind me to get the kid double what I promised him.”

“Promised him?” Bruce turned on Jason and Steph, unsurprised to find Steph in the middle of eating one of the sliders from her purse.

Jason’s expression read ‘oh crap’ and Steph shrugged, still chewing. Bruce ran a hand through his hair.

“This is why Alfred doesn’t take you to the store anymore, you know that right?” he said instead of a reprimand. Maybe this wouldn’t fall on deaf ears.

“And it’s why he sent you. Though heaven knows why he thought you could stop it.” Steph grinned.

“He didn’t. He just knew B would bail us out when we got caught.” Jason picked up the remaining tray of pot stickers and eyed it, like he was trying to decide if they had room for the rest or not.

They were both right, and Bruce hated them a bit for it, but it was tempered by the image of Damian racing past them on the cart, and the bright sound of his laughter as he caused chaos. What would it take to get a copy of today’s footage? He was sure Costco didn’t have any kind of real security, which made getting a copy of Damian’s smile and Jason’s high five easy. Maybe he’d take his kids shopping more often.

“Flood in the seafood section and all employees be on the lookout for a boy carrying a bag of live crawfish.”

Then again, maybe he’d just ground them all for the rest of their lives.


	16. Dick and Damian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone!

A bird ruffled its feathers beside Damian. It’s small feet tapping on the roof as it shuffled past him, a curious whistle as it tilted its head looking him over. Damian had stopped breathing, he had become a statue, focusing his entire being into peace. It was not like he’d never been approached by a bird before. It was simply strange.

It was the middle of the night in the middle of winter. Freezing wind tangled Damian’s hair, his breath blew out in front of him in little puffs he could see in the moonlight. The bird should be far away from Gotham, but it had chosen to stay. Damian was sure he’d find a nest, tucked in one of the crooks of the building where heat slipped out and there was raised brick and roof to shield it from Gotham’s unforgiving weather.

Why had it stayed? The question spun in his mind as the bird, dark, russet, beautiful feathers, tip tapped its way towards him. Had it been its choice or had someone released it? Was this little bird only trying to survive because an irresponsible pet owner did not realize what it took to care for it?

Was it lost and alone, trying to find a safe place just to survive because no one wanted it?

Chirping turned Damian’s head, and the bird fluttered. Not at his movement, but at the sound. His eyes, used to the dim night at this point, watched as it’s wings carried it far faster than the little skitter hops to a chimney, a nook where a family waited for it.

The bird, settled into the nest, snuggling close to the others close to it. If it had ever been abandoned it had at least found a home.

Perhaps that was why it had chosen to stay.

A door creaked. Footsteps followed. Soft puffs of breath.

“Grayson.” Damian greeted, as a heavy blanket was draped over his shoulders.

The warmth stilled some of the shivering that he had not realized had set in. His brother sat beside him, settling in, with his legs slid out in front of him. He pressed a travel mug into Damian’s hands. He glanced over to see another cupped in Dick’s palms.

“Hey, Dames.”

Damian leaned into his side for a moment before pulling back long enough to pull the blanket around his brother. Grayson smiled down at him and tugged him a bit closer.

“Just to make sure the blanket fits us both.” He said.

He nodded and snuggled a bit closer. He always ran a little hot, and Grayson a little cold. Someone needed to be close to make sure the man didn’t freeze joining him on the roof.

The content of the mug was cocoa, spiced with a little cinnamon and topped with whipped cream. The cream was cool and softened the still burning temperature of the chocolate. A recently learned secret from Pennyworth, and Damian’s favorite touch. He made a note to thank the man when they went back inside for the night.

“Just a few more minutes to go.” Dick said, his voice soft in the night.

Damian hummed his response, settling closer to his brother’s side. The blanket, cocoa, and his brother had wiped away the rest of the night’s chill beyond that touching his nose.

“Richard?”

“Hmm?”

There was so much he could ask. So much to ask. Anxiety swirled the chocolate in his stomach. Only one real question rested there.

“Do you believe he would be proud of my progress?” Damian whispered.

His brother’s arm tightened, pulling him closer. “He’d be a fool not to, and for the record I’m so so proud of you too.”

Damian hid a small smile in another sip of his cocoa, allowing the compliment and added coddling. A clock below them chimed the hour, ringing out tones of midnight, of time extending forward.

Lips pressed a gentle kiss into his hair, “Happy new year, Damian.”

“Happy new year, Grayson.”


	17. Dick and Damian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian has been charged with making sure Dick sleeps in.

Warmth tickled the back of his neck and eased Dick into wakefulness. The realization that there was pressure on his chest, and small arms wrapped tightly around him jerked him awake. He looked down to see a mess of dark curls, long eyelashes brushed against his Gotham Knights shirt, and a tiny form pressed close to him that was all Damian.

Damian who’s face seemed scrunched closed. Who’s grip was one of a child desperate for something. Though what that was Dick wasn’t sure.

Dick shifted, legs slipping down the sheets from where he’d apparently curled against Damian, and pulled the child just a little closer savoring his warmth and the smell of Dick’s own shampoo on him.

Had he come in after patrol? Why had he come at all? Dick was only recently in Bludhaven and he’d seen Damian last week. His hand tangled in his brother’s hair, smoothing back sleep tousled curls, letting the soft, just barely damp, hair bring back memories.

“Go back to sleep.” A tired voice mumbled, “You are supposed to sleep in today.” The word ended in a yawn.

“And why is that?” Dick whispered, a smile touching the corners of his lips. Damian’s desperate hold seemed not for him at all, but for Dick. He wondered what he’d missed.

“ss my job.” The sleepy voice murmured, “That’s what they thought I’d be best at. Keeping you in bed and sleeping.”

They? Dick frowned. What had he missed? Or forgotten? Had he somehow gotten hurt last night? But he felt fine. No illness wearing down his bones. No ache spreading through him like fire. He didn’t even feel lingering effects of a toxin or days spent recovering.

Which begged the question of who set Damian to keep him asleep? Who had directed his little brother to snuggle close and act as a human restraint against Dick getting up too early? Obviously it would work. Dick need only think about how little sleep Damian himself got and he was willing to keep the kid close just to make sure he was the one getting proper rest.

“You are not sleeping.” A green eye opened to give a sleepy glare.

The sun that was still streaming against Dick’s neck was playing across Damian’s face. Warming the dark skin with soft light and making his opened eye glitter like a jewel.

“Have I ever told you that I love your eyes?” He said, his own voice slow and sweet with sleep.

Damian’s nose wrinkled as he frowned, “Stop it, Richard. Go to sleep.”

“But how can I when I’ve got you to talk to?” Dick asked.

And now here, as surprising as it always was, Dick felt a spike of pain in his heart. A memory of the days when he’d been sure he would never get to talk to Damian again. The words ‘we were the best Richard’ dancing through his mind. Phantom memories of a made up scream of anguish. Green eyes widening falsely in front of Dick’s face because he had not seen it. Had not heard it. Had not been able to stop it.

Like he had sensed Dick’s fall into failure, Damian pressed his face into his chest, fingers at his back gripping Dick’s shirt.

“I am here.” He whispered. “I am fine.”

He had a scar that covered his chest. A white jagged thing that screamed wrong against the sun kissed skin everywhere else. He had nightmares and freezing terror at a blade turned the wrong angle.

“That is not what this is about.” Damian said, voice muffled by Dick’s shirt. “I was not supposed to upset you. Today should be a day of happiness only.”

“Oh, kiddo.” Dick sighed, and pressed his face into his hair, “I am happy. I’m happy to hear your voice and see your face and love your eyes.”

He did not say ‘I’m happy to have you alive again. To be allowed to mourn the fact that you had such pain and still deal with its consequences.’ Because that would only hurt Damian and ruin whatever sweet plans he had come up with.

“Will you tell me why it’s your job to keep me tucked away in bed?”

Damian hummed and curled a bit closer, “Will you go back to sleep if I do?”

“That depends on the answer.”

He could almost feel the frown against his torso.

“Mr. Kent asked me to.”

Well that answered nothing, and only gave Dick more questions. He pulled his face reluctantly away from his brother’s hair so he could look at Damian, who was still curled against him. Like being there would erase any hurt Dick had.

And honestly? It did. Even if it was a temporary fix that lasted about as long as the warmth of Damian lingered in Dick’s arms.

“And why did Clark ask you to?”

“Because.”

That seemed all Dick was going to tease out of him at the moment. Damian closed his eyes and pretended to fall back asleep. Maybe in an attempt to lure Dick that way. The sun was warm and so was Damian. Warmth pressing in on Dick from two sides when he got so little sleep anyway was a sure promise that he could fall back asleep. Especially now that he knew Damian wasn’t here because he was hurting.

Dick let his eyes start to drift closed again. Heavy with sunlight and the comfort of a family member in his arms. He really was tired. And mystery or not. Seeing him last week or not. Dick loved being able to snuggle Damian close.

“I was dead for your birthday last year.” A tiny, almost inaudible, voice said. “Everyone else thought you were too.”

Dick’s eyes snapped open.

“I’m sorry.” Damian whispered again. “If anyone should only have happiness on their birthdays it is you, Richard.”

He didn’t seem to have realized that Dick was still awake. And Dick didn’t want him to know quite yet in case he said anything else. He made sure his breathing was even and deep.

The pieces clicked together. It was the right time of year. Spring just peeking its way into existence, days warm enough to linger in, nights chilly enough to keep him cool on patrol. Damian wishing him happiness. A chance to sleep as late as he’d like. Clark coordinating something mysterious.

“Today will be the best. Even if I have already messed it up a bit.” He was serious, like he was laying out a plan of attack for a mission. “Everyone has come. Even Father and your infuriating friend Wallace. You will have to thank Mrs. Kent and Pennyworth, but I suspect you will guess they organized it.”

Little hands balled his shirt tighter in them, “I hope it erases whatever sadness you had last year. I’m sorry I was dead. I would not have stood for you being alone. I–” his quiet voice cracked and then went silent. His knees curled closer to himself balling tightly against Dick. “I love you, Richard.”

And now Dick couldn’t stop himself from pressing a kiss into Damian’s hair, “I love you too, Damian.”

He had to hold tight as Damian tried to jerk away, embarrassment flushing his cheeks, “Richard! It is not polite to eavesdrop.”

“Is it eavesdropping if you were telling it to me?” Dick smiled against his hair.

“You were supposed to be sleeping.”

“And now I am very much awake and excited for this surprise party. Do you think we’ll surprise them if we go out now?” Dick asked, and before Damian could answer or react he scooped him closer and stood on the bed, tucking Damian under his arm.

He had to hold tight as Damian started kicking and squirming, “Put me down, Richard. You can’t go out yet.”

Dick hopped down off the bed and heard Damian oof, “How about we make a deal?” He asked, “I’m not putting you down because it is my birthday and if I want to carry my brother I will, but I’ll give you a piggyback ride and we can enter into the unfinished preparations triumphantly.”

His brother huffed and crossed his arms, glaring up at Dick from his overturned position. “I thought you liked surprises.”

“I do.” Dick grinned, “But I like surprising better.”

He didn’t wait for Damian to agree, only hoisted his brother up and over his shoulders to settle on his back. “Ready to go?”

“Kent will not be surprised.”

“But the others will.”

“Tt.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Damian wrapped his arms around Dick’s neck and leaned himself over Dick’s shoulder just far enough to look him in the face, “Fine. But allow me to wish you a happy birthday now.”

Dick smiled at him, “Sure thing, Dames.”

He was expecting a solid happy birthday, so when Damian leaned a little bit further and kissed his cheek he couldn’t do anything but freeze until his brother had leaned back and resettled himself against Dick’s back, pressing his face there, “Happy birthday, Richard.”


	18. Older!Damian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian babysits

Damian Wayne could handle children. As a vet one learned to deal with kids. Kids with wild dogs, kids with inured hamsters, kids who’d just been told their goldfish had died. As an animal lover himself, Damian knew just what to say to them. The best part was that he didn’t take them home. Never had he been in the situation where he stared down a petulant child as they stood in his front entryway.

This particular petulant child had been dropped off by the ever cheerful, overly optimistic, Richard Grayson. You two will get along great, she’s a lot like you were as a kid. Dick had said, his voice bright as he waved at them before driving off. Damian had not had a chance to argue. Not that he would. He’d found that as much as Richard could no longer say no to him, he couldn’t say no to his oldest brother when asked for a favor.

Sarah, for that was her name, stood with her green eyes narrowed, chin raised, and arms crossed in front of him. Her mouth pressed into a line as she looked him up and down.

“From what Dick said, I figured you’d be taller.”

Damian chose to ignore the remark. He’d promised Richard that he would take care of her, and starting a fight over petty words this early would be detrimental to his keeping that promise. Instead raised an eyebrow at her.

“Dick?” he asked.

She shrugged, pushing a dark lock of hair behind her ear. “He said I could call him that. Didn’t want anyone at the center calling him Mr. Grayson.” She scoffed. “As if half the kids don’t already call him that.”

Damian smiled. Richard was that way. He threw formality out the window the first chance he got. It always worked for him. His charisma made him easy to get along with, and his smile could melt most anyone’s frosty exterior. Damian wished that his brother was with him now to melt this girl’s distrust.

Like everyone in his family, Richard had a way of taking in kids. His way was the Blüdhaven Community Center. Since he’d started there half the kids had come to see him first as a big brother, then as a father. He couldn’t take them all home, since many had homes of their own, but he was always there for them.

Sarah was, as Richard had put it, ‘currently in a hard place’. What he meant by it, Damian didn’t know. Richard had been tight lipped on the point when he’d asked Damian to watch her for the day.

“Dick says not to be intimidated by you.” Sarah told him. She’d gone back to eyeing him with a suspicious look. “That you can be a bit of a cactus, which I’m pretty sure means you’re crap with people and better with animals-” she had him there. For all Damian had grown, he was still too eager to brush off human companionship for time alone or with his pets.

“-but that deep down you’re a softie.” she finished.

That must be why she’d been eyeing him so carefully. She was looking for weaknesses. Damian wanted to groan. Like him as a kid. He was going to wring his brother’s neck when he returned.

“Richard doesn’t know me nearly as well as he thinks he does.” Damian lied and motioned her towards the kitchen. “Let’s have lunch and talk about the plan for the day.”

“Sure, Dami.” she grinned and skipped ahead of him.

“It’s Damian.” he called after her. He was definitely going to have words with his brother when he returned. He sighed and collected himself. He had 7 hours at best with her. 10 if Richard was running very late, which Damian almost counted on. He could do this. He was good with kids.

Four hours later Damian had decided that he was in fact not good with children. At least not children age 10 and born of the devil. He was trying to be patient. Trying to follow Richard’s instructions he’d left. Video games were ok. Sugar was a no. And by no means should he let her near bouncy objects, whatever that had meant.

None of that was a question at this point as Sarah had ignored all three. The moment Damian had turned his back she’d been in his closets. His room. Under his bed. Searching for what he had no idea. She’d sulked back into the living room every time he’d caught her, and at one point Damian had been sure he’d won the battle of wills.

That was until his fire alarm had gone off.

The fire was in the bathroom. The victim his shower curtain. Her excuse was she wanted to light a candle. Damian owned a few candles, they created a nice ambiance on days where he needed to relax. He kept his matches in the kitchen. Above the refrigerator and well out of reach of his cat, he’d thought they were also out of the reach of children.

Damian had hauled her back into the living room, dropping her on the couch and glaring down in the same motion. “Would you mind not setting my stuff on fire every time you get bored?” he said.

She crossed her arms and glared up at him. “It was one thing. And an accident.”

“Two things. The curtain and the toast from lunch.” Damian corrected.

“So, your blaming me for burning toast too? Dick said you were prickly not a jerk.”

Damian took in deep breath. He could do this. He could deal with one very irritating child for three more hours. He looked back down at her and blinked. The picture coming into sudden focus.

Crossed arms. Lemon sour face. Hurt eyes. It was him ten years younger. Stuck in a strange building with a strange man, and far away from the family he knew. Even if that family was less than perfect. The familiar comfort of having someone disappointed in him or acting out the only way he knew to find stability.

He swallowed. He wouldn’t show her pity, no matter what he felt. She’d strike back, just like he would have. No. He’d find some way to connect and make both their lives a little easier for the next few hours.

“What did you expect when you arrived here?”

His question threw her off guard. Her arms dropping to the couch as she bit back an irritated response. “I dunno. Someone cool I guess.”

“That’s not an answer.” He pushed.

She squirmed and her scowl dropped into a frown. “Dick talks about you a lot. I guess he thinks we’re alike for some reason.” She broke off for a moment. “I thought I’d see it. Instead all I see is a boring adult who doesn’t get it.”

Damian sighed and knelt to match gazes with her. “Richa- Dick didn’t tell me a lot about you, but he did say he thought we’d get along and I trust him. What do you say we try to find some common ground?”

She eyed him for a moment before sighing. “I guess so. Dick wouldn’t be happy if his prediction was wrong.” She agreed. “How do you feel about Dance Party 6?”

Damian smiled at her. “I find it to be highly illogical, incredibly ridiculous, and absolutely irresistible. Let’s play.”


	19. Jason, Bruce, Damian, and Tim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian tries out his Batman voice

There was a crash from the hallway that sent Jason’s knees to the coffee table in a jump. He dropped his book in favor of rubbing at the smarting sensation on his legs, and shot a glare at Bruce seated on the chair across from him. The man hadn’t bothered glancing up from the newspaper in his hands.

“Did you let a herd of elephants loose in here?” Jason asked.

Bruce turned the page. “Tim must have arrived.”

“You invited him too?”

“It’s movie night, Jason.” Bruce didn’t wait for the snark on Jason’s lips. “Family movie night.”

Jason sighed and reached for his book again. He stopped when the shouting started. One young and high with irritation, the other deeper if just as irritated. The next second the door crashed open as Damian and Tim rolled in, a ball of fury, fists, and if Jason saw right, hair pulling.

Bruce was up the instant Jason was. Together they managed to pull the boys apart, Damian held aloft in Jason’s arms, feet kicking at air. Bruce held Tim, still swinging a punch Damian’s way.

“That’s enough, both of you.” Bruce commanded.

Jason would be lying if he didn’t admit to enjoying Bruce’s lack of control as both Damian and Tim ignored him.

Bruce tried again. “What is going on?”

“That little monster started it.” Tim growled, pulling at Bruce’s hold.

“And I intend on finishing it!” Damian shot back, legs braced against Jason’s chest as if to launch himself from it, voice deep and full of gravel, and unlike anything Jason had heard before.

Jason dropped the boy, who yelped and fell in a surprised heap at his feet. He had to stop himself from stepping back, Damian’s voice had been scary. Not just scary, downright possessed.

“B. Did you hear what I just heard, because if so I’m going to have to admit that was creepy.”

“I told you.” Tim hissed, at last extracting himself from Bruce’s hold. He stood glaring at his little brother, oblivious of the older men’s change in mood.

Jason was trying to piece together the reasons for Damian’s change of voice. Anger. Surprise. Irritation? None of them had done it before to his knowledge. Meaning Damian had done it on purpose.

Now that Jason thought about it, the grave had been familiar. Much like the way Bruce altered his voice when he was Batman. Whatever Damian had just done had been an attempt at being as scary as possible, even if he hadn’t realized who he was imitating.

“Damian.” Bruce started. He stepped around Tim to face his youngest, who was pulling himself into a sitting position.

“What?” Damian glared up at him.

He knelt in front of him, a smile hidden in the corners of his mouth. “Was that your Batman voice?”

The boy’s eyes widened before he doubled his glare, frowning at Bruce. “No.”

The word held a hint of what Jason would forever call Damian’s ‘Batman Voice’. Jason found himself smiling at Damian, even as Tim huffed.

“You sure?” Bruce asked, the smile soft on his face.

Damian’s lips pressed into a line and his father continued, “Because it was quite good. It needs some work, but good nonetheless.”

“Really?” Damian had a glint of something like happiness in his face now, the opposite of the fiery anger he’d crashed into the room with.

“Really.”

It was at this point Tim snapped, throwing his hands into the air. “No. No way. We were fighting! Fighting, and you let it go because of a change in voice?”

Jason stepped over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “You win some, you lose some, Timmy boy.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” Tim said, dropping his head into his hands.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jason spotted Damian smirk, and without hesitation he gave Damian a thumbs up.


	20. Damian and Alfred the Cat

Damian was already irritated when he shuffled into his room. Father had pulled him from patrol before he’d even finished getting ready. He’d sworn he was fine, but the moment the words had come out of his mouth he’d started coughing, sealing his fate to sleep the night through. That is if he could ever get Alfred to move from his bed.  
  
The cat had curled himself up in the middle of the bed, and refused to move. Damian was a firm advocate of teaching his pets to listen, and refused to just shove the cat from his perch. Usually a stern command worked, but Damian’s head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton balls and was sure his voice was suffering for it.   
  
Then there was his cough. He couldn’t get a few words out before it caught them and stole his thunder. Alfred simply regarded him with an irritating patience. As if he were waiting for Damian to give up and take the floor. An option that was abhorrent to the boy.   
  
“Move.” Damian tried again, his voice coming out as a croak.

 Why had he thought it was a good idea to try and patrol tonight anyway? He’d learned the hard way that sometimes it was better to rest and lose one night of patrol then get sicker and lose many.  
  
Alfred’s tail swished, and the cat blinked at him. Damian glared.   
  
“Get down.” He said again pointing first to the cat then to the floor.   
  
The cat had the audacity to stand, turn, and resume his rest facing away from Damian. Damian was too tired for this. Could Alfred not tell he wasn’t feeling well? All he wanted to do was lay down and sleep off the stuffy head and ache in his chest, and his cat refused to comply.   
  
“You are terrible.” Damian said, stomping around to face him. “You are very bad at being a cat.”   
  
Alfred raised his head and yawned. Well two could play that game. Damian would show him. What kind of loving cat didn’t respect his master's wishes?   
  
He glared. “You’ve failed all your cat exams and are no longer allowed to be a cat.” He said. That would do it, would show him.   
  
Instead Alfred blinked at him, still bored. Still seemingly unmoved by Damian’s words.   
  
The boy pointed an accusing finger at him. “Guess what? The examination bored wrote and said you have to be a guinea pig. That’s all your good for.” He crossed his arms and huffed.

“Tt.”   
  
Alfred meowed at him. It was a slightly confused sound, accompanied by a head tilt. At it Damian broke.

  
“Fine.” He said. “Keep the bed. I didn’t need it anyway.”   
  
He plopped down on the ground in front of his bed. He was too tired to argue with his cat. The only good thing that had come from the exchange was that he hadn’t coughed the whole time.   
  
At the thought his throat tickled and he groaned, letting himself lean forward until his forehead rested against the side of the bed. Above him there was a tiny rustle before Alfred hopped off the mattress to land beside Damian. He eyed the creature as it curled up beside his thigh, purring gently.   
  
“Traitor.” Damian grumbled.


	21. Dick, Alfred, and Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: Not only am I a late bloomer, I'm late for everything else"

Dick shifted his weight from one foot to another and felt a sudden prick of pain in his ankle.

“Careful, Al.” he yelped, resisting the urge to yank his leg away.

If he did Alfred would lose all the work he’d done on Dick’s pant leg, and Dick would be stuck standing like a marionette for another half hour.

“You wouldn’t get pricked by needles if you didn’t move, Dick.” Bruce said from the couch where he was reading.

Dick had been with Bruce for a while now, but there were so many things to learn about living with a millionaire. Dick had expected he’d need to go to parties, and have proper attire. He had not expected his clothes to be tailored to him. Bruce seemed used to it, he read the newspaper as he waited his turn to see Alfred with a measured patience Dick didn’t think he’d ever achieve. He was bored and antsy after only a few minutes of the butler tweaking the cuffs on his pants.

“I wouldn’t move if they made pants my size. We looked for hours today, with no luck.”

Everything had either been too short or too long for Dick to wear, and at last Alfred had given into a pair that Dick liked the feel of, deciding that hemming would be better than special ordering for Dick’s first formal party.

Beside him, Alfred chuckled. “They don’t make pants your size because boy’s your age are always growing.”

Dick wanted to bounce on the balls of his feet, but settled for taping his fingers against his thighs. “Not me. I haven’t grown in a couple of years. Mom called me a late bloomer. I liked it that way, it meant I didn’t have to get a new uniform all the time.”

The memory of his mother brushing back his hair with a smile as she dubbed him a late bloomer made his heart squeeze painfully. Dick hadn’t thought about his parents in a while. He’d been busy. Busy with his new school, his new living situation, and being Robin. Was it bad that he hadn’t thought about his mother in over a month? That question squeezed his heart again.

“It’s alright though.” He said, his words pushing back the tears that had caught in his throat. “Not only am I a late bloomer, I’m late for everything.” He paired a grin with his words, hoping he’d pushed away any worry Bruce or Alfred might feel about him.

He hated burdening them with the memory of his situation. He was thankful to have a place to call home, with people who seemed to genuinely care for him. He didn’t want to risk that by always bringing up his problems. It was better to be the ray of sunshine his father used to call him than a storm cloud of sadness.

From the couch, Dick heard the newspaper crackled for a moment before it settled again. He tried to turn his head to get a better look at his guardian, but his position didn’t let him see more than Bruce’s shoulder. It rose along with Bruce as he got up from the couch and approached them. Alfred hadn’t said anything, but his work on Dick’s pantleg had stopped.

Bruce put a hand on Dick’s shoulder and didn’t quite frown, but he had that look in his eyes like he understood everything Dick had been thinking and feeling. It was all the permission Dick needed to let the pressure in his chest go. His breath caught for a moment as a couple tears slipped down his cheeks. Dick knew his face was red, and he didn’t care. His hand found Bruce’s, the larger hand warm and encompassing his own. Dick leaned a little to the side, into Bruce and felt his pant leg loosen as one of the pins fell out.

“Sorry, Al.” He sniffled, as he ran his free arm across his face to clear the hot tears.

“It’s quite alright,” Alfred’s voice was low. Dick realized he’d already packed up most of the pins and had stood, a solid presence beside them.

“You don’t have to go.” Dick said, then took in a settling breath, “I’m ok now. It still hits me sometimes. That they’re gone. But I’m okay now.”

Alfred nodded, but didn’t move. By his side, Bruce’s hand on his shoulder moved to a hug. “You know,” He said. “my mother used to call me a late bloomer too.”

“Yeah?” Dick asked looking up at him.

Bruce nodded. “She was right. A few years after I lost her I shot up like a beanpole. Alfred was hemming my pants daily.”

“I wouldn’t say daily.” Alfred cut in with a wry smile. “But it was often enough I’d wished you were a girl.”

Dick blinked owlishly at them. “Why?” he asked

“Because, then he could have put me in skirts. He threatened to once.” Bruce grinned and Dick laughed at the thought of his mentor in a skirt and he realized that he’d stopped crying, and the pain in his chest had lessened.

“Did you?” Dick asked Alfred. “Put him in the skirt?”

Alfred laughed. “No, it might have taught him a thing or two, but I did not.”

“Too bad.” Dick said with a grin. “I would have liked to see that picture.”


	22. Bruce and Alfred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred and Bruce talk about adopting Tim

Bruce could feel the impatience radiating off Alfred as he finished his conversation with Tim. They’d been going over case information in Bruce’s office rather than the cave. A binder lay between them stuffed full of everything they might need, and complied by the boy next to him. The boy whose eyes, Bruce noticed, were drooping even as he spoke.

“Get some rest, Tim. We’ll have time tomorrow.” Bruce said, his voice a gentle dismissal.

Tim yawned and didn’t argue, instead he gave Bruce a smile and waved at Alfred as he shuffled out. Bruce watched him, affection bubbling up in his chest. He was so proud of him. Of everything he’d done. He was bright and a quick study. His insight had become an invaluable part of Bruce’s life. More than that his constant presence and quick wit added to Bruce's life in a way he'd thought he'd never have again.

“God help me, Master Bruce, but adopt that child or I will.”

Of everything Bruce might have expected from Alfred, this was not it. The angry hiss cut through the warmth in his chest, icing it over with something akin to fear.

“No.” He said closing the binder on his desk.

Alfred blinked at him, the energy from his earlier statement faltering in a, “Sir?”

Bruce shook his head. “I said no. I can’t do it, Alfred.”

“And why not? The boy is practically your son as it is. The least you could do is make it so in writing.” Alfred snapped, shock wearing away at last to anger.

Bruce looked down at the glossy black binder beneath his palms. “I don’t think I can be a father.” he didn't add: again. 

If he thought that expressing his doubt would bring Alfred over to his side, he found himself blindsided when Alfred’s frown deepened.

“You crossed that bridge long ago, Master Bruce, and not just with Timothy.”

“Dick was different. We were partners.” Bruce argued.

It was true. Even so, Bruce knew he should have done things differently. It was not the best way to raise a boy, but it had worked for both of them. Even if he and Dick weren’t as close as Bruce would like, he’d turned out fine, better than fine, he’d turned out to be the opposite of Bruce. Happy, trusting, someone who worked for the law instead of around it.

“And, Jason.” His voice still broke when he said his late son’s name. He swallowed. “I failed him, Alfred. In so many ways.”

All it took was the thought of his ultimate failure with Jason and he could feel it again, his arms weighed down with the chilling broken skin of his boy. His heart stuttered to match that of the specter against his chest, and his nose burned as it remembered the smoke that had choked the life from his son. He couldn't fail anyone again. Couldn't do that to another child. Jason had been his, his to protect and love and nurture and he'd lost him. He wouldn't fail again.

He shifted in his seat, his hands sliding to the edges of the binder, pushing away the phantom weight. Even if he’d never met Dick or failed Jason there were still a million reasons Bruce could list in favor of not adopting Tim.

He could cite the increased danger on Tim’s life if he adopted him. More kidnappers would be after him than already were. The media buzz would get worse. He’d be locking them both into a position he wasn’t sure Tim actually wanted. The boy had been independent enough before he’d come to Bruce, more so after he’d started mentoring him. Was it even right to take away Tim’s independence like that? Independence aside, how could Bruce try to take over Jack's place in Tim's life? Would he appreciate Bruce trying to take over after he'd already lost one father? Would it feel like a betrayal? He didn't want to make him have to deal with that. 

Even as he thought them Bruce knew the reasons were shallow and easily shot down. He could list reason after reason and not get to what was troubling him. He could pile them up to avoid looking at how he’d failed. How he was sure to fail again if he tried.

Alfred stepped towards him to stand across from him, the desk dividing them. “Your previous failure is irrelevant. What is, is how Young Master Timothy sees you. To him, you are a father. The only way he would see you as anything else is if you were to reject him and cut ties completely.” Alfred told him. “Might I add that if you ever did that, you would also be cutting ties with me. I will not abide you abandoning him. Not that I believe you would.”

“I–” Bruce started but Alfred cut him off with an ahem.

“It is not ‘I’, Master Bruce. It never has been about you. It’s about the boy. No matter what you might think. It is his well being we are speaking of. For my part, I believe the best thing for him would be you dropping all ambiguity and show him his place in the family.”

It was Tim’s well being that Bruce worried about. He loved Tim desperately and he didn’t want him hurt. When he’d decided to become Batman he’d done so with the idea that it was a lonely life. A life he shouldn’t bring children into. Then when he’d ignored his own decision he’d seen the way his life tore apart his family. He’d seen it kill those he loved. If he put his love for Tim in writing, would he also be signing the boy’s death certificate? Would he be signing his own if he didn’t?

He told himself that it had been Dick who needed him. That Jason had needed him more. Tim had shattered that facade with a few words. It was all it took to shake Bruce’s world. No longer could he tell himself that they were the ones who needed him. That because he was an adult he could take care of them. 

He had to face the fact that it was always the opposite. Bruce had never taken care of anyone, or anything. Maybe the city. But could one truly take care of a city like Gotham? Dick had pulled him back from the darkness he hadn’t expected to consume him. Jason had taught him so much. How to lead, how to be gentle, how to give, and he’d thrown that all away when the boy needed him most. Tim had saved him from his darkest moments. From his all-consuming grief. He’d looked at Bruce and saw the man he could still be, and then he’d dragged him to the place where he could start to be himself again.

Bruce picked up the binder Tim had dropped off and turned it in his hands. It was heavy. Filled with all the information Bruce had asked for, and more. Alfred was right. Tim already saw him as a father, and there was no way Bruce was going to tell him otherwise. He warmed too much at the thought of seeing Tim after school, of coaxing an animated conversation on his classes or photography out of him. He wouldn’t trade time spent with Tim for the world.

Was he even worthy of him? That answer was a strong no. Bruce hadn’t been good enough for any of them, least of all Tim.

Alfred eyed the binder. “It is an honor to be a father, sir. But whether or not you deserve it is a misguided question. What you should be asking is what Master Timothy deserves. We have established that your rejection of him would only cause harm, and thus the only answer I see that is the legitimate acknowledgment of his place in your life and priorities. He had the boldness to take on the mantle of Robin when it was needed, but he will not do the same with the position of son.”

Bruce set the binder down. Had Tim ever really been a son? Even when Jack had been alive Tim preferred time spent with Bruce. And here Bruce was, in the coveted place of a father and he was denying sonship to the boy he’d grown so close to.

He gave Alfred a tight smile. “I’ve been an idiot haven’t I?”

“An utter fool.” 

Bruce chuckled. “I don’t doubt it. Would you mind getting me the phone? I need to make a call.”

Alfred’s frown had finally softened into a smile as he held out the house phone. “I’ve taken the liberty of pre-dialing it for you.”


	23. Damian and Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place sometime during Damian's time with the teen titans

Damian let go of Garfield’s arm, helping his friend onto a bed in the Titans Tower medical area. He eased the boy lay back so his head could rest on one of the pillows before straightening and pulling his own cape close around himself.

“You’re not to move for at least eight hours. The drug in your system will take at least that long to dissipate.” Damian said.

The other boy waved him off. “It’ll take me six.”

“Eight.” Damian repeated. “I don’t care what you think your physiology can do, I won’t have you getting worse because you think you’re better.”

Garfield grinned up at him. “Aww, you do care.”

“Tt.” Damian said before turning to Kori, “Make sure he rests. I’ve got to go prepare the mission debrief for Batman, he’ll be wanting to see it soon.”

She nodded, then blinked at him. “Did he not tell you? Batman is here to pick up any evidence for your Commissioner.”

Damian pressed his lips together and just avoided groaning. Any other day he’d be happy enough to have his Father at the tower, to show it off to him and see the pride on his face for the way Damian was leading. But he was in no hurry to have another guest. Not with Garfield dealing with a strange drug in his system, and the rest of Damian’s team in need of time to themselves. Not to mention Damian was nursing his own bruised ribs and seeping stab wound from the fight.

It was nothing he couldn’t handle, and nothing as bad as Garfield’s state, so Damian had elected to opt out of admitting to his own injury in favor of taking care of his team. He’d avoided Raven to make sure he wasn’t found out, but even if he was he’d receive little more than a light scolding and a demand he see to his own injuries immediately.

If Father found out? Damian would be hauled home with no opportunity to argue. He’d be forced to recover on his own and kept from any further mission with the team until his father was sure he’d be fine. Damian couldn’t let that happen. He was the leader of the Teen Titans, what leader let their father drag them home after a minor scrape?

“I’ll see him then.” Damian said.

Father would not be kept waiting, it would both tip him off that something was wrong and irritate him. It would be best to give him his report and have Father leave as soon as possible. Damian hated having to push him away, but the timing was not ideal.

Batman looked up from a stack of papers when Damian entered the command room. He motioned for his father to take a seat and proceeded to give him the titans side of the mission debrief. They’d partnered for a short period with Batman, which was why his father was even there and looking for evidence.

His father took in the information with a nod. Damian handed him the evidence they’d gathered and stepped back.

“If that’s all, Father, my team and I have our own business to attend to.” He said, turning towards the door.

Bruce caught his injured arm. “What happened?”

Damian pulled away and winced, his arm aching at the pressure. “I just told you.”

“Damian.” His name was a warning in Bruce’s voice now.

He knew what his father was pressing for. Batman was a detective first, and Damian’s injuries would be obvious to even a novice. Yet he did not want to admit them.

He should be beyond this. Beyond worrying about being seen as weak by his Father, but Damian could not shake the need to prove himself, to be better than his predecessors and to be perfect. Grayson would have forced the words out of him by now, pulled them out like poison from a wound.

But Father did not do that. He was silent, stoic, immovable. Father did not pull the truth from Damian, he expected him to be better. Expected Damian to have been skilled enough to make it through the fight whole, to be fit to lead his team. He expected so much, so much Damian couldn’t give him. Especially not in that moment, not injured and hiding his failure.

What kind of leader would Father see Damian as? He knew how he saw himself, as a faulty one who could not even make it through a mission without being injured.

Get out. Damian wanted to yell. Get out and don’t come back, not until I’m better. Not until I’ve successfully made it through a mission. Those were the words on the tip of Damian’s tongue, begging to be shouted.

“Everything is fine, Father.” He said, instead.

Bruce sighed, and pulled back his cowl, “Let me look at it.”

“I told you—” Damian started to say, but Bruce lunged forward and flipped Damian’s cape behind him, hands reaching for Damian’s injured arm.

“You’re carrying yourself awkwardly, like your chest is sore, and you didn’t once use this arm during our conversation.” Bruce said, maneuvering Damian towards the seat he hadn’t taken himself.

“Now, are you going to continue to lie to me or will you let me at least look at your injuries?”

Damian blushed. “You’re not going to make me go home, are you?”

“The medical facility here is sufficient. Besides, you told me you were planning to stay through the weekend. Why would I insist you change that?”

Bruce was rolling Damian’s sleeve up to better look at the wound. The knife hadn’t hit anything vital and Damian hadn’t been worried about bleeding out while he put off bandaging it.

“Because I’m injured. When I’m home you bench me for less than this.” He didn’t add that his father also usually grounded him for lying to him.

“It’s not that bad.” Bruce commented, turning his arm over. “Any broken ribs?” he asked glancing up.

Damian shook his head. Bruce gave Damian a gentle smile as he pulled out supplies to start bandaging his arm.

“Are you angry, Father?”

Bruce sighed, and leaned back. “I’m not happy you got hurt, I’m never happy when you get hurt. But I’m not mad at you.” His hands were gentle on Damian’s arm as he cleaned the wound.

“You’re doing good with your team, I’m proud of you. But you can’t ignore your own injuries in favor of others, even if I’ve set that example.”

It was wrong. The words coming from his father’s mouth were wrong. Damian should not be receiving praise for messing up, or being injured. He should be in the process of arguing with Father over punishment, and be making his case to stay. Mother wouldn’t have allowed such actions. She would not allow lies or injury.

Damian’s fingers curled into a fist. He hated comparing Father to Mother. It was easier with Grayson, he’d taught Damian early on that he wouldn’t yell or punish Damian for getting hurt, and that nothing would influence his opinion of him.

But Father was different. Damian had spent years of his life simply trying to be good enough to meet his father. Then he’d spent years trying to be accepted. Even now when he knew Father loved him, knew his father would not hold him up to the same standards Mother did, his mind railed against the truth.

“Stop it.” He said, pulling his arm away. “Stop trying to make me feel better. I messed up, I know that. Tell me what you truly believe. That I am not good enough to lead this team, or not strong enough yet, and that a real leader doesn’t allow himself to be injured like I did. Mother would.”

His face was red, he knew that. His chest hurt, and not only because of the bruising. He hated this, he couldn’t get past what his mother would do. What she’d say. What she’d do. It had been years since he’d been under his mother’s hand he wasn’t supposed to think the way she’d wanted him to anymore.

He hated the need to be perfect. The pressure to be better than everyone else. The ingrained idea that if he messed up he should be punished for it.

“Damian.” Bruce’s hand went to his cheek and stayed there for a moment before he pulled Damian close to him, his arms not tight enough to hurt, but an encasing warmth. “It’s okay.”

Damian’s eyes flooded with tears and he sniffed to pull them back. “I’m sorry. I should not allow myself to get so worked up, I know you’re not her. I should be better than this, I—”

“Damian, would you listen to me for a moment?” The gentleness of Father's tone stopped the flood of words coming from Damian’s mouth.

“I love you.” Father said, looking him in the eyes. “You’re a good kid, and no one expects you to be perfect all the time, or go without getting hurt. I didn’t let you build this tower and lead your team if I didn’t think you’d do a good job. You did good today, and you’ll keep doing good work.”

“Yeah?” Damian asked.

“Would I lie about this?”

“Never.”

Bruce nodded and pulled away to finish bandaging Damian’s arm. He motioned for his son to pull off his uniform so he could wrap his ribs.

His Father’s next words were a surprise to Damian, “Your mother loves you, you know. It doesn’t excuse how you were raised, but she does love you.”

Damian nodded, sniffing again. “I know.”

“And, I know I can be tough, and I might seem like I hold you to the same standards she did, but all I want for you is your happiness. I want you to be safe, and happy in whatever you do.” He continued, then caught Damian’s eye again, “Try not to be so hard on yourself, Damian. We are all still learning.”

“I will try.”

“Good, now do you want to show me around your tower, or would you like to get some rest? I can stay for a while, and I’ve been meaning to come by to see what it’s like.”

Damian stood from the chair. “I think I have enough energy to show you around. But if you’d like to stay longer, we’d enjoy having you.”


	24. Dick and Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been raining so long Dick's pretty sure he'll die an old man before it stops.

Dick was running late. He’d found his his sky blue rain jacket, the hat that matched it, and exactly one of of his blue galoshes. He couldn’t find the other one in the piles of papers and discarded books and games that filled his room. He dropped his backpack and rain gear by his door and started picking his way through things accumulated over days of boredom.

The pile of things in his room was not from boyish messiness like Alfred kept telling him, but because of the rain. It had been raining since Monday, and Dick was close to going mad with cabin fever. He couldn’t even say he was exaggerating. It had been raining so long, and with little to no let up that he was pretty sure he’d die an old man and it would still be raining. Alfred said it had something to do with it being ‘the season for it’ and there being a storm, but Dick was starting to think there might be a new costumed villain in town, and that was the cause of both the rain and Bruce’s hours and hours of patrol past the usual.

The rain made Dick antsy. It made his feet tap and his fingers drum the desk when recess was cancelled for Heads Up Seven Up again. It meant no activity outside at all. No pulling weeds or playing ball, or climbing anything that wasn’t under a roof (and then no climbing anything under a roof because _Alfred_ ). He didn’t even have the luxury of patrol, Bruce went out on his own, leaving Dick at the manor to ‘behave and not catch a cold’. Like Bruce wasn’t just as likely to catch one himself.

He didn’t find the shoe in any of the piles of clothes he had scattered around his room, and dropped to his knees by the bed to check under there. His arm reached as far under as he could, fingers scrambling against a ball, car, loose papers, and something sticky he was sure was the squishy goo they’d made in science class.

“Master Dick, you’ll be late for school!” Alfred’s voice carried into his room.

He yanked his arm back and glared at the dark sliver that was the place under his bed before standing. He snatched up the single red rubber shoe belonging to his red rain outfit he could find. He had no idea where the rest of that was, and was out of time to try to find anything else. So he settled on being mismatched, grinning at the thought of Alfred’s scandal upon seeing him in two different colored shoes.

He slung the coat over his arm, then pinched the tops of his rubber shoes between his fingers. He rather liked the red and blue together, it was bright and fun. Something nice to add to the gloomy day in a long line of other gloomy days.

When he ran downstairs he saw Alfred’s frown at his shoes and his grin returned, “We’re late, remember?”

That was all it took for the man to give into his fashion mistake and allow Dick the joy of mismatched shoes. He followed Alfred at an almost skip, his body humming with energy despite the early morning and dark weather.

A dark shape caught his attention as they passed the kitchen, and he paused. Bruce sat at the island picking at a piece of toast, and staring listlessly down at a newspaper. He didn’t even have his coffee in his hand, it sat next to him on the counter steaming. Alfred’s voice prodded him on before he could decide if he wanted to bother Bruce or not, so Dick passed it off as effects of the morning and the weather.

Alfred dropped him off at the school with just enough time for Dick to make it before the bell if he ran. He waved at the man as he darted through the gates, umbrella flopping against the rain with him. It was only after he heard the car drive off that Dick spotted a puddle large enough, and aimed for it. He spent precious seconds jumping into it, and enjoyed the satisfying splash of water on his boots and against his coat. Puddles, he decided, were the only good thing about rainy days.

It rained through his first classes, lunch, then more classes. All the while Dick stared out the window praying it would stop long enough for recess. It didn’t and he was stuck playing Heads Up Seven Up again. Dick hated the game. He hated how it took sitting to an even worse level by forcing him to bury his face in his arms and wait with a thumb held high.

Even without cheating to look at people’s shoes he could still tell who it was that picked his thumb every time. Bruce had taught him enough about reading people that the game was child’s play. The rough hand that brushed his belonged to Tommy Jonas who was always helping his dad build things. The soft, thin hand accompanied by the smell of lilacs was Emily Hallman’s whose mother had bought her ten bottles of the same lotion. Dick would rather be in class then spend forty-five minutes doing what amounted to one of Bruce’s drills.

After school let out Alfred was a little late picking him up. Dick took his opportunity to properly splash in puddles, instead of only having his stolen moment from that morning to enjoy. It was the most activity, beyond training in the cave, he’d gotten all week. When Alfred pulled up he slumped happily into the back of the car.

His euphoria didn’t last long in the face of nothing to do at home. The week had drained all the excitement from any of his games and books, and he was so bored even the idea of watching tv was unappealing. With nothing else to do he finished his homework for the night and decided that a snack would be the perfect distraction.

He inched his way into the kitchen and spotted Alfred watching him with a raised eyebrow. Dick grinned at him, and stood straight.

“Dinner will be ready in a few hours.” Alfred told him, like he knew Dick was there to fill his boredom with food.

“Will you let me slide with a cup of cocoa?” Dick asked.

Alfred seemed to consider that, “It may ruin your dinner. Besides, you don’t need the sugar.”

“Alfie.” Dick whined.

The plead slid off Alfred like water on the cup he was rinsing. “Why don’t you go work out some of that excess energy in the cave?”

Normally this would be a great suggestion. Only Dick had been ‘working off’ his energy in the cave for five days now. He was tired of how dark it was down there, and tired of how dark it was when he came back up in the middle of the day, tired of it still being dark at night.

He did not groan, only huffed and nodded. Alfred would only set him to polishing something if he complained further, and he was certain polishing anything would be even worse than sitting around with nothing to do.

Dick waved at Alfred as he left the kitchen, and found himself at a loss of where to go. He didn’t want to try the cave. With his homework done he had little interest in going back to his room. The kitchen, obviously, was not an option. Leaving him with what?

Bruce was home. He’d be back from work by now, always taking Friday as a day to leave a little early. He’d probably brought work home with him. If he wasn’t in his office he’d be in the cave working out. Dick would check on him. Maybe he could convince Bruce to dig out a board game or he could tease him into a good chase.

Dick’s steps sped up at the idea of tearing through the manor, feet flying, giggles releasing all the pent up energy of the past few days. It would be good for them both. Bruce was always too quiet, too still, too willing to just sit. Plus Dick couldn’t shake the memory of him slumped over and picking at his bread that morning. Dick needed to make sure he had enough fun in his life. It was his job to make sure Bruce smiled as often as he frowned, if not more.

The thought of a little fun pushed him on as he made his way in search of Bruce’s office. He slid to a stop at the staircase, his socks skating across the wood with enough force he would have sailed past it if he hadn’t hooked an arm around the rail to anchor him in place.

As luck would have it, Bruce was coming down the stairs himself. His own feet were tucked into slippers- better for warmth than sliding, Dick knew- and he was carrying a stack of papers under his arm. He looked like he’d been working all day, eyes not looking at anything, free hand absently running along the rail.

“Heya, B!” Dick said, skipping up the stairs two at a time to catch up to him, before stepping backwards to match pace.

Bruce’s eyes slid over to him for a moment before returning to the empty space ahead. He grunted, something unintelligible, and possibly a greeting. His grip adjusted on the papers.

“I was thinking,” Dick started, “Maybe we could do something today?”

Another grunt. Like a place-keeper. As if he knew he was supposed to say something, and so that was his response.

Dick frowned at him, they were at the bottom of the stairs now. Like a robot, Bruce had turned at a sharp angle, and started moving towards his office. Dick turned so he was walking beside Bruce, still eyeing the man. He poked a few more teasing words at him, then actually poked Bruce in the side. All he got was another grunt, albeit a slightly irritated one this time.

Something was wrong.

Even when he was in a mood Bruce was more receptive than this. Dick could always manage to tease out a small smile or a glare of temporary irritation. Some kind of response. Bruce hadn’t even tried to move out of the way when he’d poked.

Dick could easily discount Bruce being sick. He didn’t look it, not in the normal way at least. His face wasn’t pale, his eyes weren’t red, he didn’t even so much as sneeze, or take in a wheezy breath.

If it wasn’t an illness, Dick was going to find out what it was. This was his mission now. Figure out what had happened, and fix it. It all tied into making sure B smiled, and maybe even laughed today. Yes, this was the perfect way to lift the gloom of the day. He could lift it for both of them.

Dick dropped back behind Bruce and acted like he was turning away, actually taking a few steps before he darted down a hall to be out of sight. He gave Bruce a few minutes to make it to his office and settle in before he peered around the corner.

Dick half expected Bruce to be standing there. His gloom all a ruse to lure Dick into a chase, or to use as an example of not getting too caught up in a mystery you miss the obvious. The hallway was empty. Dick squared his shoulders and got to work.

He moved past Bruce’s office without the man even seeming to notice. Dick lingered, feet slowing as the passed the open door to watch his dad. Bruce was staring down at the papers that had been in his hands, shuffling them. Like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. For a moment he looked up to the window, then back down, and Dick was past the door.

It was the same thing when he checked on Bruce an hour later, moodily shifting papers, eyes finding the window and the rain, then turning back to the words on the pages.

The third time Dick came by Bruce was gone. A question to Alfred cleared up his location: the cave. When he went down to find him, Dick watched as Bruce seemed to stay down there forever, punching the same bag until it broke, then setting up another, and another. Dick hadn’t seen him do this since some of his first weeks living there. Then it was because of his routine. Now, as Dick watched his face, and the dull line of his expression he realized Bruce was bored. Maybe not quite the same way Dick was, but he was sure all the rain had gotten to him as well. This, he could fix.

He hurried first to the linen closet and found the biggest sheets he could. He dumped them in the living room before hurrying to his own room to collect all the lights he could while the storm outside got even worse. It crashed and raged against the windows, lightning tearing across the sky accompanied by a full band of thunder crackling and booming. Dick was sure Bruce would be easy to find when he finished setting things up. He'd either still be in the cave or back in his office, staring out the window. There was no way he'd go on patrol tonight, it was too bad to attempt much, especially after Alfred’s anger the night before when Bruce had gone out in something only a little better than this.

He collected lights from all over the house, then climbed to the attic to dig out the boxes of Christmas lights before carrying those to the living room as well. While up there he caught sight of an old spotlight and grinned at it, snatching the object as his last bit.

Then Dick got to setting things up. He hung the sheets from the ceiling like a circus tent, huge and draped to take up the most space possible, then he filled the inside with every light he could. Lamps, the Christmas lights he’d collected, and Alfred’s candles that weren’t really candles but looked like them when switched on. The inside looked like stars, glittering and glowing against the white sheets hanging down. He piled pillows, cushions, and blankets on the floor for comfort and moved out to work on the spotlight.

He cut a bat out of black construction paper and taped it to the front, turning the light on and off as he adjusted it, making sure the dimensions and shadow were perfect. Then he turned on his bat signal, shining it at the opening of his fort, and grinned. Perfect.

Dick scooped up a flashlight and hurried to find Bruce. He was still in his office, shuffling through papers. He bypassed hellos and ran straight up to Bruce shining the flashlight in his face. His dad jerked at the light.

“Come on B! You don’t want to miss this.” Dick said, darting back away before Bruce’s hands could catch him.

“Dick!”

Dick paused long enough to make sure Bruce was following him and darted out of the room. He stopped and waved the light again, “Come on, old man!”

“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’m trying to work.” Bruce grumbled, stepping out.

Dick grinned at him, “You’ve been working forever. It’s time for a break.”

He received an exasperated sigh in return, but Bruce didn’t turn back or try to convince Dick to stop. Dick froze when he was just out of sight of the living room. He threw his hands out to stop Bruce's advancement.

“Close your eyes.” he said.

Bruce frowned at him, “Dick, this is getting–”

“Close your eyes.” Dick said again, crossing his arms, “Please?” he added.

Bruce sighed again but his eyes closed, “Now what?”

“Hand.” Dick said, and when Bruce held his out he took it and led his dad into the room.

“Okay, open them.” he said, barely able to contain the excitement bubbling up in him. He couldn’t wait to see Bruce’s expression.

He looked up as his dad opened his eyes and took in the scene. He frowned at the set up and Dick felt the sudden need to explain. This wasn’t the smile he’d wanted, and he needed Bruce to know there was more.

“I wanted to brighten your day up.” Dick explained. “It’s been so dark and gloomy lately, I figured it was getting to you too.”

His dad smiled, “A bat signal?”

“To show you the way in.” Dick grinned, “Come on. It’s great.” he hurried forward, and pulled the flap open to user Bruce inside.

His dad stepped in and Dick watched the smile he’d been looking for take his face. He turned to Dick and pulled him into a side hug, “This was a great idea. Except for the obvious fire hazard.”

“We can keep an eye on that.” Dick said, snuggling closer, “I thought we might take the night off? Maybe crack this open and watch a movie or play a game. Alfie doesn’t want you going out in the rain again, and–” It was Dick’s turn to be cut off as Bruce spoke.

“You don’t need to convince me. I think it’s a great idea.”

Dick grinned at him then, big and as bright as the lights around him, “Great. I’ll tell Alfie we’re going to camp out here for dinner. Maybe he’ll join us and we can all enjoy the lights.”


	25. Dick, Bruce, and Robin!Jason

Getting in and out without being noticed was the plan. Dick would have stuck by it if he hadn’t run into one slightly disgruntled teenager pacing the hall between Dick’s old room and the exit.

Jason was pouting, and Dick didn’t know him well enough to be confident he could help, but he did know the house well enough to figure out the source of the mood. He stopped the boy’s angry pacing with a whistle.

“What’d B do this time?” he asked, trying to keep his voice cheerful and avoid the usual anger that seemed to seep into it when he talked about Bruce.

“Nothin’.” Jason said, lower lip pressed forward as he crossed his arms.

“Nothing as in your not going to tell me, or it’s Bruce’s doing nothing that has bothered you?” Dick pressed.

Jason eyed him, the pout turning into a pensive line along his lips. “Why should I tell you? You’re just gonna leave. If I hadn’t been angry you wouldn’t have stopped to talk to me anyway.”

Dick sighed. Jason had him there, but could the kid blame him? Dick’s trips to the manor had to be quick and quiet or they’d inevitably end in a fight with Bruce. A shouting match between the two of them wasn’t good for anyone, especially not the newest Robin.

“You’re right, I was planning to be in and out quickly, but if something’s wrong I’m happy to stay and help, Jason. Things aren’t so bad I’ll ignore a problem that I could help with.”

Jason examined him for another long moment before nodding. “Fine. Maybe you can talk some sense into him, I know I can’t.”

“Jay—” Dick started, but Jason grabbed his hand and pulled him the last few feet down the hall to the room on the end.

In one motion he’d opened Bruce’s door with a hand and shoved Dick in with the other. His only advice was a half muffled. “Make him rest and Alfie and I will let you stay for dinner.” before the door was all the way closed leaving Dick confused and in the one place he’d never expected to find himself when he’d decided he absolutely needed that Gotham Knights sweatshirt.

“Bruce?” he tried.

Aside from a lamp on Bruce’s bedside table the room was dark, the heavy curtains drawn closed against the midday sun. Bruce had a chair pulled up close to the table and the light, his laptop in his lap. His bed was slightly rumpled, but not to the extent that told Dick he’d slept in it. The more likely option was he’d laid down for a few minutes to appease Alfred before climbing out.

Sick then.

Dick could work with sick. He’d talked Bruce into bed enough times as a kid he was pretty sure he could it again, all their arguing aside.

“Jason seemed pretty upset in the hall.” He said, trying to keep things casual.

He took a few hesitant steps into the room. It had been how many weeks since he’d talked with Bruce? Two, three? He’d been keeping busy with a case in Bludhaven and had let time slip past him again, that and he’d been cooling off after another argument with Bruce. Sometimes just being around him felt smothering. The only reason he’d bothered to give into his desire for the hoodie was the case leading him into Gotham temporarily.

“B?” Dick asked.

The computer keys weren’t clicking, and neither did anything on the screen seem to be moving so Dick wasn’t sure if Bruce was ignoring him because he was sick or because he wanted Dick to go away.

He inched around to get a better look at Bruce’s face and had to put a hand over his mouth to keep him from laughing. Bruce was asleep, chin tucked into his chest. The ratting breath Bruce pulled in was enough to make Dick happy he hadn’t laughed.

“Bruce, hey.” He shook his father’s shoulder gently.

Bruce started, eyes fluttering open. “Jay lad, I told you ‘m fine.” He grumbled. His voice was scratchy.

“It’s Dick. Jason sent me in.”

His father looked up at Dick with a frown that turned into a smile. “Hey. How’re you?”

Dick really wished Jason had given him more to go on than a grumpy mood and request to make Bruce rest.

He leaned forward and pressed the back of his hand against Bruce’s forehead, it was hot. That added to the rattling chest, and painful sounding throat told Dick Bruce was sporting a bad cold, probably worse if he’d been stubborn about it, which Dick already knew he had. Bruce was stubborn about everything.

Bruce caught it when he pulled away. “How was your trip?”

Dick frowned at him, turning his wrist in Bruce’s hand so he could take it. With his other he pulled the laptop away and set it on the table.

“Come on, bed’ll be good for you.” He said reaching out to pull him off the chair.

“When did you get so big?” Bruce asked, as Dick pulled his arm over his shoulder.

All of his father’s weight dropped on Dick the moment he was completely up and Dick resisted groaning. Bruce was really out of it if he was leaning so heavily on Dick. He adjusted his grip on his wrist and hefted him a little higher against his side.

“Are you calling me fat?” Dick asked. “That’s a pretty good way to get me to drop you.”

“No.” Bruce sounded slightly affronted. “You’re wire thin, even Alfred’s cooking wouldn’t make you fat.”

As coherent as Bruce had started to sound, Dick wasn’t sure his father even knew where he was. It had to be the fever, or he’d have mentioned Dick’s long absence, their last fight, or reminded Dick in some way shape or form of just why he’d been staying away in the first place.

“Was it the camp food?” Bruce asked. “Alfred told me we should have gone with a better camp.”

Dick eased Bruce onto the bed and chuckled, “Camp Ballentine?” he asked.

He’d begged Bruce to let him go during his second summer with him. His friends at school had all raved about it, half of them were going, and Dick wanted in.

“You wouldn’t let me send you to my old one.” There was something wistful to Bruce’s tone, and hopeful, like he wished Dick had a better time than he’d had.

“It was fun.” Dick said, more so Bruce would let him tuck him into the bed than a real answer, they’d had this conversation years ago.

Then he’d been a lot more excited to tell him about his time. Bouncing into the manor the moment Alfred pulled up, sliding into Bruce’s office, and dumping an armload of handmade leather goods onto Bruce’s desk. He’d been talking before Bruce even realized what happened.

He missed being able to talk to Bruce like that. He missed being able to talk to anyone like that.

“You’re smiling.” Bruce said, snuggling back into the pillows. “Must have been a good trip.”

Dick tucked the blanket up under his chin. “It was.”

One of Bruce’s hands slinked out from the blanket and cupped Dick’s cheek.

“Get some rest B.”

He went to pull away and the hand gripped his a little more firmly.

“Stay?” He frowned. “I’m sorry I yelled. I don’t know why it’s so stressed between us.”

“You know why things are the way they are.” Dick said, his voice gentle, there was little heat there, not when Bruce was so sick.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Bruce sighed. “Please stay, you don’t have to talk.”

Dick tugged the chair closer to the bed and sat down. “If it’ll keep you in bed, I’ll stay. Want me to tell you about camp again?”

Bruce smiled. “What you’ve been doing lately would be nice. But I won’t say no to a recap.”

Dick nodded, it wouldn’t hurt to talk for a little while. He’d talked Bruce into resting before, he could do it again. It wasn’t five minutes before Bruce was yawning, eyes already shutting.

“I missed you, Chum.” He murmured.

“Me too.” Dick said.

 


	26. Dick and Damian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I seem to write Damian faking being sick often, and for various reasons. This time he's trying to get Dick to take a break

Dick stepped from the elevator, the briefcase in his hand slipping a bit, as he moved into the penthouse beyond. Exhaustion spread over him in a tingle of sharp and hot pain that seemed to radiate from the base of his neck and across his shoulders. All he wanted to do was drop the briefcase and fall into bed for hours and hours and forget about everything. That was all little more than a dream. Dick had half an hour at most before he had to turn around and leave again.

He dumped the briefcase by the door, he was only going to have to retrieve it again before he left, and rolled his shoulders back. Four meetings back to back to break and back to back again. How did Bruce do it? How had he balanced work, Batman, and raising kid after kid?

Dick had thought he could handle it. He’d handled so much before. Handled school while being a vigilante. Handled going off on his own. Injuries with no Alfred to patch him up. Leading the Teen Titans. Stepping in as Batman for a bit. He was a man who could have the world on his shoulders, who’d done it before. But this was something new.

That was not to say he’d thought that taking over Bruce’s place would be easy. It was the last thing he’d wanted to do. He knew it would be hard, but he’d thought he could manage. He had Alfred after all, Alfred and Tim and Damian. Well not Tim, not really, not after their fight. But Dick had hope. He knew Tim would come home. After all, Dick had come back. He knew that despite the break, and the shattered pieces left between them they were still brothers. He knew Tim knew that too.

And if he didn’t, Dick would go after him.

But that was a worry for another day. He glanced at the kitchen and let a sigh of relief out at seeing it spotless. He’d expected nothing less from Alfred, but with the week he’d had he wouldn’t be surprised to see dishes piled high, left while Alfred took care of an emergency with Damian (or worse a meltdown, as rare as they were anymore). And Dick would sigh, forget the half hour he’d promised himself off his feet, and trudge into the kitchen to tidy it, because he wouldn’t leave something for Alfred to do if he was perfectly able to do it himself.

Thankfully, he didn’t need to do that. He let his feet carry him to the couch and he fell forward into the plush cushions, his momentum catching the blanket neatly tucked across the back of the couch and pulling it down across his back.

Dick let the couch soak up the special kind of stress and ache that hummed across his shoulders as a result of sitting in front of a computer for two hours. Slightly hunched as he tried to decide if he should look into the web cam or the little image of himself or focus on the other men in the Skype meeting. The cramped space where even tapping the heel of his foot in an attempt at expelling some energy did more to hurt than help as he kept bumping his knee on the underside of the desk, shaking everything.

His eyes were just fluttering closed, itchy with the need to simply stop looking for a little bit when he heard the sneeze. Or more accurately, the series of sneezes, sharp and staccato, punctuated by quick gasps of breath and wheeze.

Dick wrenched his face up from the cushion it had been buried in to find Damian attempting to sneak past him, blanket wrapped around his body, little nose bright red and slightly wet. One of his hands was pressed against his face, palm over his mouth. His other hand held the blanket around his shoulders with a white knuckled grip.

Damian opened his eyes to reveal a watery green squint that didn’t seem to catch the fact that Dick was looking at him. He returned to shuffling his way to the kitchen, sniffing once and scrunching his nose.

He hadn’t seen Dick on the couch. He probably didn’t think Dick was going to be back for hours, that had been his practice over the week after all. It wasn’t like he'd really been at the penthouse all week. Just staying long enough to eat, sleep, and change in and out of his uniform. The most Damian had seen Dick was on patrol, and there he’d been too exhausted to even chat the way he normally did.

Thankfully, Damian had been pleasant over the week, seeming to understand that this was not a time to push. Dick reminded himself to thank the kid for that, but now he was wondering if part of it had been Damian himself starting to feel bad.

He could feel the minutes tick by, could picture closing his eyes again and feigning sleep until Damian tucked himself back in his room. He didn’t want to give up the less than half hour he had left.

“Hey ya’ Dames.” He said, and watched the child freeze.

Damian turned his head and tried to straighten. “Richard.” His voice was a little rough. “Are you home for the day?”

Dick tried not to wince at the thought of his answer, “No, I’ve still got some meetings. Then a dinner with some investors, and I wanted to tweak the patrol route for tonight.” Saying the list seemed to return the boulder to his back he’d just managed to slip off with the help of a comfy couch.

Damian frowned at him, and Dick saw something flit over his features, some sharpening of his gaze that was too fast for him to discern before a series of coughs took him, both hands flying to his face, and letting the blanket drop to pool around his feet.

“You don’t look so good, kiddo. What are you doing out of bed?” Dick asked, when the coughs had subsided.

Damian shrugged, “It was getting stuffy. And I am thirsty. Pennyworth will be out for a few more hours at least.”

A desire to stay and snuggle up with Damian tucked into his side washed over Dick. As much as it would be rest for his brother it would be the same for Dick. But he had those meetings. And that dinner. And patrol.

Dick asked himself again how Bruce managed it all. How did one man do the work it took three to do? The memory of Dick in Damian’s position came to mind. There had been times that he too had trying to sneak past Bruce while not feeling good, tiptoeing his way past his dad’s office so he didn’t bother him.

He should have known, even then, that he couldn’t hide anything from Bruce. Almost as often as he'd tried it, he’d been scooped up and taken back to bed, where Bruce had stuck with him most of the day, opting to put off some of the paperwork for later.

Bruce was always doing that. Shifting things around, even though Dick had caught sight of his planner once. He’d had bathroom breaks scheduled. And yet, Bruce always seemed to make time for other people. The one person he didn’t make time for was himself, and Dick had wished more than anything he’d learn to just stop. He could never figure out why Bruce could do it for the world, and not look at himself and realize it was just as good a thing to practice personally.

Now he was beginning to understand it a bit.

“When is your next meeting?” Damian asked, picking the blanket back up off the ground to pull close to his chest.

Dick checked his watch and did groan, “Ten minutes.” He should have left by now. Where had the time gone?

Damian shifted the blanket, tugging it a bit closer, “Must you go?”

It was as close to an actual request for Dick to stay as Damian had ever gotten beyond the last time he’d been under the influence of fear toxin. Then it had been almost all he'd said to Dick until he'd finally passed out. Dick could miss one meeting. Alfred should be back by then, and he could still make most of his day. He _was_ already late.

“Why don’t I stay for a bit? At least until Alfred gets back.” Dick said, and pushed himself all the way up on the couch to lean on the side and look at his brother.

Damian nodded, and ducked his head, almost hiding the smile that pulled over his lips, “Thank you, Grayson. Let me get you a bottle of water, and maybe we can watch something? I can rest on the couch.”

Dick shook his head and made to stand, “You aren’t feeling good, let me get the water.”

Damian held out a hand, “I’m already standing, besides some walking after sleeping will be good for me.”

Dick relented and let himself fall back against the couch. Damian arrived after a few moments, pressing a cold water bottle into Dick’s hands and setting his own on the coffee table. He then plopped onto the couch beside him, shifting his blanket so it wrapped all the way around him. He looked a little like Bruce had sometimes when he pulled his cape around himself against Gotham’s air during a long stakeout.

He cracked open the bottle and took a deep sip, realizing then how thirsty he was. He downed almost half the water before setting it down. In that time, Damian managed to find the remote and turn on the television.

Dick couldn’t pin down when it happened but at some point, between shifting through channels and settling on the animal planet Damian leaned against him. The blanket’s soft fabric rubbed up against where Dick had rolled up his sleeve and the light pressure of the boy against him was already working as an anchor to Dick.

He snuggled closer to him, and then it was Dick who was pulling him closer. Then Damian was a sudden ball of movement, tugging the blanket off himself before throwing it over both their laps, and returning himself to Dick’s side.

They hit the time for Dick’s second meeting and somehow Damian was so attached to Dick’s side he didn’t want to move. He had a feeling he wouldn’t want to even if Damian was in the other room, but the boy’s presence was enough to keep him rooted firmly in place.

It wasn’t until Alfred entered and disappeared again that Dick realized Damian hadn’t coughed or sneezed since he’d sat down. And while Damian was warm against him, he was no hotter than he usually ran (warmer than most kids, and a lot like Bruce in that sense).

“Damian?” Dick asked, as a lion pounced on an unsuspecting antelope on the screen, digging into the flesh of its neck with her teeth.

“Hmm?” his brother’s voice was sleepy.

“You aren’t sick, are you?”

Damian sat up a bit, though he didn’t pull away from Dick enough to be considered not touching him, “I had some issues with allergies this morning. What you saw was the tail end of that, played up with some light makeup application. Pennyworth is a good teacher.”

“You two conspired against me?”

Now Damian did pull away to look at him with a serious look, “You have been working for over 120 hours on minimal sleep and food. It was this or watch you crash and burn on patrol tonight, and I believe we both can agree that this was the better option.”

“But my meetings– Damian those were important.” Dick argued.

“Pennyworth rescheduled them the moment I let him know you’d agreed to miss at least one.”

“The dinner?”

“Moved to a day you have more time.”

“Patrol?”

“Really, Richard. We both know patrol will not be happening tonight. Oracle has been informed and the Birds of Prey offered to cover.”

Dick grinned at him and pulled Damian forward, intending it to be a hug, but he’d surprised his brother and Damian over corrected, loosing his balance to fall into Dick’s lap. Dick laughed, as Damian hurried to sit up, finding himself tugged instead into a sitting position in Dick’s lap.

“If you aren’t sick, I think the best place for you to make sure I rest is right here.” Dick told him, his arms wrapping snugly around Damian’s chest.

His brother huffed, “You are probably correct. I, believe we’ve also watched enough animals if you wish to choose something else.”

Dick buried his face in Damian’s hair, and closed his eyes, “Anything’s fine. Thanks, Damian.”

Fingers found his and squeezed, “Of course, Richard. Anytime you need me I will be there for you. We are the best, and to keep that true we must be well rested.”

Dick hummed and turned so his chin was resting on Damian’s head, “You make an excellent point. Though next time, Damian, just ask. I don’t think your acting skills need any more practice.”


	27. Damian, Bruce, and Dick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very short piece inspired by a tumblr post

“Father, what are you doing?”

“Hmm?” Bruce’s initial reaction is confusion, the question was not one he was expecting. Then he realized that he’d lifted his youngest son by his suspenders, the boy was rarely in suspenders, tonight however was different. They’d been getting ready for a party. “I was wondering how my hair looked.”

“I believe my opinion would be the same with my feet on the ground.” Damian’s arms were crossed now.

“I—” Bruce paused. “It’s an old habit.”

Damian’s irritated frown turned into an eager almost grin, his eyes widening ever so slightly in interest. “Is there a tactical difference in the height? An old training technique you taught Grayson or Todd?”

Bruce frowned. “It’s not that.”

He didn’t have time to continue as the door swung open and an outraged cry filled the room. “Bruce! How could you?”

Both Bruce and Damian’s heads swiveled to find Dick standing in the doorway. He moved towards them taking Damian from Bruce, but still holding him by his suspenders. “This was our thing. Ours B.” The hurt in his voice is real, but also just outrageous enough that Bruce knows he’s not that upset about it.

“It was an accident.” Bruce said. “The first time I did it.”

The clearing of a smaller throat turned their attention back on Damian. “Can this conversation continue while I’m on the ground?”

Dick looked him over then responded as if he hadn’t heard Damian at all. “B, you didn’t fix his tie.”

“I’d been asking him about my hair.”

“Yes well you usually—” Dick paused and nodded towards the bow tie on Damian’s chest.

Bruce reached out and straightened it. “I was getting to that.”

“Like you got to the paint in my hair that one Christmas?”

“Selina thought it was endearing.”

“Selina thought it was hilarious.”

“You can reminisce later after someone has put me down!”

 


	28. Bruce and Damian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set right after Damian's brought back to life

The television hummed little nothings through the living room. Bruce sat, a warm lump tucked into his side, and felt content for the first time in ages. He was exhausted, but in the best way. What energy, time, or effort wouldn’t he trade to be in the exact position he was now?

A warm huff of breath pushed at the hairs on his arm. He smiled down at Damian. His skin was warm. His chest rising and falling with even breaths. He was _alive._

The boy was blinking sleepily at the television. Despite being newly resurrected he was as exhausted as Bruce was. If in mind not body. He’d been strong. Bright eyed and happy enough while the family milled around him. Alfred bringing out a cake he’d made in hopeful anticipation of the family’s success. Jason ribbing him about joining his club. Tim lingering close like he wanted to pull Damian into a hug but settled for keeping the child in his line of sight.

Damian had stood tall, expressed pride over his new powers and his family’s feats. Grinned at the cake and thanked Alfred. He had not said much about dying, and had not pushed when Bruce had gently prodded him down to the cave for a few tests, just to make sure. He had even allowed coddling he would normally resent.

As the day drew on Bruce could see it, the exhaustion washing over his boy. Dick would have seen it sooner, known it was coming early on, but Dick was away, secreted off to Spyral and dead to the world. Bruce could thank every being in the universe that his youngest had not yet asked about his brother. There was time for that, and so much more later.

He’d stuck close to Damian’s side until Barbara, then Jason, and Tim all finally pulled away other duties calling them back to life. Alfred had the forethought to cancel all of Bruce’s meetings before he’d even asked.

The moment they were alone Bruce had suggested bed. Damian had given him that look. The one that implied arguing even if he was in no shape to do so. He knew the words on the tip of Damian’s tongue before he’d spoken them. ' _I am not tired. It is only midday.'_ Tactics needed to be changed then. TV was suggested, Bruce asked if Damian would stay by him because he was tired. Always make Damian think it was his idea. Give him a chance to be Robin. To help. Bruce had learned the best way to make his son rest, and that was to make him think he was forcing others to do the same.

The bonus this time was that they were both truly exhausted.

Bruce sat first. An invitation to the boy, and Damian followed a moment later, dragging a full throw blanket off the back of the armchair to toss over Bruce. In turn Bruce tucked Damian into the rest of it. Titus joined them curling into Damian’s open side. Bruce pulled him close to make sure they both had enough blanket. But also, because he couldn’t stand to be far from him.

His son. His boy. Alive.

Why had he wasted so much time before? He’d been a fool to think this child a threat. Bruce wanted to scoff, but didn’t want to jerk Damian out of the sleep he was inching his way into.

His hand found his son’s curls and absently he let himself brush them back. A sigh of contentment told him he’d done right. How many things had he done wrong? How many hurts had he caused through assumption? Idiocy? Fear.

Damian snuggled a bit closer, eyes still on the television, watching as a heard of antelope ran across the screen. He was tiny presence burrowing into Bruce’s side. He was still so young, yet there was almost no baby fat on him, only a little still clinging stubbornly to his cheeks. Everything else was toned. Trained. Worked and pushed and pressed until he was the tool his mother had made him to be.

Bruce had let Talia tell him she’d lost the baby. He'd dropped himself into work to stem the grief and hadn't looked back, not for far too long. Why had he never followed up? Checked to see if she’d lied? Why had he left her to work all the childhood out of his son?

There was one thing no amount of training could change. The still soft hair on his son’s head. Not impossibly soft baby fuzz, but smooth, and better than any conditioning could make it by sheer force of youth. His fingers carded through his son’s curls again.

Damian glanced up at him. Green eyes blinking at blue, and the boy smiled. Bruce was sure he’d never get enough of that smile. Any of his children smiling warmed his heart. Today it’s potency was doubled. He’d been afraid he’d never see this smile again.

“How are you feeling, Father?” his voice was heavy with exhaustion. Bruce didn’t think he’d be awake much longer.

“Good.” Bruce said, “Tired, but good.”

Damian shifted, somehow moving closer. “Excellent. This period of inactivity has so far been successful. I looked at the schematics for the suit you rescued me with. It is important to rest after even the smallest use.”

Bruce nodded. “Thank you for staying with me.”

The boy nodded once, the action pulling a few hairs through Bruce’s fingers, still tangled there. “Someone must keep an eye on you. I’m afraid the others have neglected their duties in my absence.”

Clark had once told Bruce he needed to smile more. He’d scoffed then. Now he couldn’t stop the feature from pulling his lips up, it was so good to hear Damian’s voice. To hear his earnest desire to be the best Robin. Not because it was his right. Not anymore. This came from love. From a need to make sure his family was taken care of.

Bruce’s chest tightened. He’d failed his son in so many ways.

Dick would tell him he’d tried. Clark would say he’d done well. But Bruce knew the truth. He could have been so much better. Now he had the chance to make up for it. To help nurture the goodness in this boy. Dick was right. He was always right. Bruce hadn’t been looking, now his eyes were open, and he prayed they never shut again.

He pushed a loose curl behind one of Damian’s ears, he was in need of a haircut. What a wonderful thing to need.

“It’s good that you’re here then. I can trust you to keep me in line.”

The child nodded again, and turned his attention back to the television. Bruce had lost the train of what was playing on it. He was too focused on the way Damian’s chest rose and fell against his own. How his body warmed the sore aches on Bruce’s side. The way one of his hands tangled in Bruce’s shirt.

He lost track of time marveling at his luck. At the blessing. The second chance he had beside him.

“Father?” Damian’s voice was quiet. His eyes still ahead. Bruce had been sure he’d fallen asleep.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for bringing me back. For saving me.”

He was not sure how to respond. What words do you say to your son to answer that? Of course. Always. If it hadn’t been Bruce’s fault maybe those would have sufficed. Maybe. What was it to risk the universe to bring a child back? How do you say your welcome to that? It shouldn’t be a thing requiring thanks. Bruce never should have needed to bring him back in the first place. And even then, Damian didn’t need to. He didn’t need to thank Bruce for doing the only thing he could. The thing he’d failed to do before. The only acceptable answer to the question of why.

He leaned over and pressed a kiss on his son’s head, breathed in the smell of the boy’s favorite shampoo, a sharp citrus that was crisp and clean. He tucked the blanket around his son like it could hold him in place, pulled him a bit closer like he’d never let him go again, then said the only words he felt might do for an answer.

“I love you.”

Damian curled into him, face pressed into his side.

“I love you too, Father.”

There would be time to worry about what was coming next. Time to deal with failing Damian again when he had to tell him his favorite brother was gone. Time to work out the boy’s powers. Time to deal with nightmares and whatever might linger from death. Time for all the sad things.

Right now Bruce had his son in his arms. Safe. Sound. Secure. Happy and content. Right now, Bruce allowed them both a moment of tired joy.


	29. Damian and Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian is sick and wants a Popsicle

Damian sniffled as he shuffled past his father’s study as quietly as he could. His throat hurt. And his head felt a bit like he’d tried to stuff his cape into it and failed. He was fairly certain he had a fever. Everything felt off and he hated it. He was supposed to patrol tonight, but his throat felt so thick and scratchy he wasn't sure he was up for anything beyond bed.

That did not mean he should shirk his responsibility. He was Robin to Father's Batman. Father needed him. Damian should be out beside him, ensuring Batman’s safety. He could not let this illness defeat him.

He glanced into the room as he passed and found Father still engrossed in his papers. Excellent. Damian can continue to the kitchen unbothered. He has timed this trip perfectly. Pennyworth will be elsewhere in the house, leaving Damian to retrieve a cooling popsicle without having to answer any questions.

It is all he has wanted for almost an hour now. Thirsty and hot, he spent half an hour dreaming about the popsicle before he decided to get it. Then, he had to determine Pennyworth’s schedule so he did not have to explain the sudden urge for the sweet. Damian was not Grayson nor Drake who would ignore proper sense and eat sweets through the day. Pennyworth knew this, and would put the pieces together quickly enough.

Damian tightened the blanket around his shoulders and tiptoed down the staircase. As hot as he was, the blanket was a comfort, like Grayson or Father’s arms tugging him close. But nothing like that at all.

He wondered when he’d begun to think of illness as something deserving comfort and not as a thing to hold him back. It was both. Something that craved comfort and made him weak in the body. It would mean he needed to be extra vigilant on patrol that evening. But he did not look on it with the same disdain he once had. Grayson had taught him to accept it when someone wished to help him through feeling bad. Somehow, he’d come to desire that comfort.

Maybe he had always desired it, but circumstances had prevented him giving into it. Now, as he reached into the freezer for a blue icy pop, he considered hesitating by Father’s door so he might take notice of Damian’s condition. He wouldn’t, that would be like asking to be cared for, and Damian did not want to seem unable to take care of himself. Plus there was still patrol to account for. Still, he would like to be bundled up and comforted.

The cold sweet was heaven on his scratchy throat and overly warm body. The mere effects of biting at the pop and letting it cool him from the inside out were enough to make him think he might manage patrol later that night.

It worked until he was almost at the stairs and the cold stopped being good. Instead teasing a cough up from his throat, like breathing in freezing Gotham air too quickly. He coughed, quick dry hacking sounds that shook his body but at least didn’t rattle his chest, and tried to breathe. When he caught his breath finally he looked up to find Father staring at him.

Damian gulped, and some of his ice pop dripped onto his fingers.

“You were working.” he said.

“I got thirsty.” Father answered.

Damian had not accounted for Father actually leaving his desk while he’d been working. He should have moved faster.

Father looked him over again. As he did so, a tickle started to explore Damian’s throat, threatening to lure another cough up from his lungs. He took another bite of his icy pop, hoping the not-quite-raspberry flavored ice would chase the tickle away.

He started coughing again instead, free hand flying up to his mouth to catch the bit of liquid he hadn’t swallowed yet, his blanket fell and pooled at his feet. His hands were going to be so sticky. Why had he thought this was a good idea when a shower would have done just as well?

Father frowned, “How long have you been feeling bad?”

Damian was truly caught now, and while he could lie he did not think Father would believe him. That did not mean he couldn’t minimize his illness.

“Since this morning, however it is nothing to worry about.”

Father shook his head, “Even something small is worth worrying about, especially if you were trying to hide it.”

Damian kept his face unreadable at this, he did not want to be pulled from patrol just for getting an icy pop. “I really am alright, Father. I will be fine to patrol tonight. This is simply a precaution.”

“And the coughing?”

“Brought on by the precaution.” Damian answered, and decided that said precaution was dripping too much already and it might be a good idea to try and finish it off. He bit off another piece of the popsicle, from the melting bottom.

It did not make him cough this time, and Damian was glad, Father was watching him carefully. He reached out and brushed a hand on Damian’s forehead. His father frowned.

“You’re warm.”

“I’m fine.” he tried again.

He wasn’t. The longer he stood here defending himself, the worse he felt. He wanted to be back in bed, snuggled under his blankets with Titus close by. This whole endeavor had been a bad idea.

In a motion Father scooped the blanket off the floor, and then picked Damian himself up. Damian had to fumble to keep his popsicle from sticking to Father’s shirt and then hair as his balance changed from being under his own power, to relying on his father’s. He looped an arm around Father’s neck and held the other out behind him, trying to keep the blue syrup from dripping on the back of his shirt. He had the sudden urge to shove the whole thing in his mouth and be done with it, but he was sure that would force another coughing fit.

As Father began moving, Damian decided to finish the icy pop before they reached their destination. He took a large bite, careful not to further irritate his throat, and then another, finishing the messy thing before the kitchen reappeared.

Father traded the stick from the pop for a wet rag and let Damian wipe the sugar off his fingers before lifting a mug of coffee he must have poured earlier with his free hand. Then they were moving again, and Damian wasn’t sure he minded this strange activity. He could rest against Father’s chest and not have to worry about everything aching so much. He’d cooled down enough that Father’s radiating heat was comfortable, rather than stifling.

Father brought him back to his office. He settled into his chair, shifting Damian so he was seated in his lap, and then tucked the blanket in place over Damian’s lap.

He turned his head up to look at his father, who chuckled. Damian frowned.

“I’m sorry.” Father murmured, the ghost of a smile still on his face as a finger brushing Damian’s cheek, “You’ve got blue lips. It reminds me of when Dick was young. I always could tell when he’d spoiled his dinner.”

Now Damian smiled too, knowing the blue was spreading with his lips, “I should have known Grayson would prefer blue raspberry.”

“Sit with me while I work, then I think we’ll both take the night off?” Father queried, “I’m sorry I can’t just drop this, but it won’t take too long.”

Damian nodded, and snuggled back against the broad chest holding him up. Father was warm, and while his chest was not soft, it was not uncomfortable either. Damian did not think he’d feel near as safe pressed against a soft chest. The firm muscles Father had spent years honing told him that he would be protected no matter what happened.

The steady tapping of Father’s fingers on keys lulled Damian to sleep, even as the computer’s light rested on his face. He tugged his blanket closer to his chin and let his face tilt towards his father’s chest. The steady breathing matched his own until Damian’s slowed in sleep.


	30. Bruce and Damian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleepy snuggles

Bruce was tired. More than tired, he was exhausted. He felt like he’d been run over with a truck, and since he’d actually been run over at least once, he decided it was not an exaggeration. No matter what Alfred said about him still being young and spritely. Galas always exhausted Bruce worse than patrol.

Now that he was home, he should head upstairs for a hot shower and bed. It’s where he was heading, but the distance from the door to the couch was much closer and Bruce settled on that option, flopping onto the couch face first.

His feet hurt. Which was insane. One night of standing and fraternizing with Gotham’s elite should not make his feet hurt. He was on them longer during a regular patrol. It had to be those stupid shoes. Alfred had insisted on the dress shoes, and Bruce had buckled. He shouldn’t have, even had Damian had strolled out in converse.

He kicked his shoes off one after another then shifted so his face wasn’t buried in the cushion and sighed as cool air rushed through his socks to soothe too hot toes. He laid there, legs propped over the armrest, back curled into the couch, and ignored how uncomfortable it was. At this angle one of his shoulders was shoved up against the side of the couch with too much pressure, and his hand was stuck under his stomach.

Uncomfortable or not it was easier than moving and far better than where he’d come from. Bruce closed his eyes against phantom visions of socialites oohing and cooing over him and men trying to drag him off for ‘just one more conversation’.

Bruce laid in the same spot until his shoulder actually started to hurt. He dragged himself up from where he'd flopped, laughing a bit at the sudden image of Alfred finding him looking like he’d been flung onto the couch. His next position wasn’t much better, tucked into the corner. At least he was sitting up and no longer looked like he was dead.

Footsteps scuffed the floor, alerting Bruce to the presence of someone else. He craned his head up to find, not Alfred come to check on him, but Damian. His son was dressed in an over sized Gotham Knights shirt Bruce could have sworn was Dick’s, and pj pants just starting to look a bit short on him.

He raised an eyebrow and Damian raised one back. He didn’t say anything, only shuffled over to Bruce and promptly fell onto the couch in an imitation of what Bruce had done on arrival. However, instead of just the couch catching him, Bruce’s lap was available now and Damian’s head flopped onto one of his thighs.

“You changed?”

“You did not.” Damian’s voice was muffled.

Bruce grunted, “You have more energy than I do.”

This earned him Damian turning his head to give Bruce half a glare. He then sighed, and pushed himself up, wedging himself into Bruce’s side.

“You abandoned me.” Damian said, head flopped in a comfortable weight against Bruce’s chest, “Left me to that horrible Mrs. Stevermer and her pinching fingers.”

“I did no such thing.” Bruce said, “You were my escape plan.”

“A deliberate attempt on my life. I told Pennyworth so.” Damian yawned.

He was warm against Bruce’s side, and doing wonders for the ache in Bruce’s side. He wasn’t sure where that ache had originated, but the hot coal that was his son pressed against it was magic.

Bruce reached over and ruffled Damian’s hair, “Did he send you? Are you here to convince me to bathe and sleep in a real bed?”

“Tt.” Damian said, “Pennyworth did not need to direct me to the obvious. You have fallen asleep on the couch three out of the last four times we’ve returned from one of these events. The fourth had you fall asleep in the cave.”

Damian had him there. Something about galas took everything out of him. More and more lately. Bruce groaned his answer and adjusted his arm around Damian.

“We could both sleep right here.” he said.

In a move he pulled Damian from his side, ignoring his son’s surprised yelp, and laid back, stretching out on the couch again, with Damian plopped on his chest. Damian’s pout was now mere inches from Bruce’s face.

Damian wrinkled his nose. This close he couldn’t resist. Bruce bopped it, willing to risk fingertips in return for Damian’s surprised gape. He bet Damian’s nose had always been as round and adorable as it was now. Bruce tried to picture a similar look on his son’s face, only younger. He tamped down the spark of pain in his chest at never knowing the answer to that.

He had Damian here, and now. There was no use in being upset over the past. He needed to enjoy what he had.

“Grab the throw to stave off the chill.” Bruce said, pointing at the blanket hung over the back of the couch by Damian.

“I am not participating in anything that will prevent you getting sleep in a real bed.”

“Fine.” Bruce said, “But you’ll be cold.”

“And you will not?” Damian said, then moved to push himself off Bruce’s chest.

Bruce reached up and wrapped his arms around Damian, tugging him closer, and securing his place on his chest. Damian wiggled, but didn’t seem interested in fighting Bruce much more than that.

“Nope.” he grinned, “I’ve got you to keep me warm. Dick’s right, you do run hot.”

“Father.” Damian tried, raising himself up on his elbows, “Your back will hurt if you insist on sleeping here. I will not pity you in the morning when you are complaining.”

Bruce sighed, “Alright, give me time to recover from the party and we’ll head upstairs.”

Damian considered him for a moment and nodded, flopping back down against Bruce’s chest. Bruce was happy to have the feel of his elbows digging into his ribs gone, and happier to have Damian’s full warmth pressed against him.

“You have an hour.” he said, laying his head against Bruce’s collarbone with another yawn, “Then I expect no arguments and prompt delivery on your promise.”

Bruce pressed his face into Damian’s hair. His curls were still baby soft, and it still smelled faintly of his shampoo from his earlier shower. Damian snuggled a bit closer, his breaths already deepening as he relaxed, victorious in his quest.

Neither of them made it half an hour before they were lightly snoring in tandem with one another. Alfred found them on his final walk through of the house and smiled gently, tossing the throw over them both as he passed through.


	31. Alfred and Damian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short short I discovered while looking for wips to work on that felt appropriate to post today

Alfred glanced over at the boy working next to him and allowed himself a small smile. Damian’s nose was crinkled in concentration as he worked. The barest hint of pink poked out from between his lips as he traced careful lines of icing across cookies.

He wondered if Damian was aware of that particular habit. He had noticed it a few times in the period Damian had lived with them. Relaxed concentration he’d dubbed it, much like his father’s relaxed face as compared with the angrier one he put on when working through something important. Rare and sweeter than the guard the young man kept up most of the time.

A smaller, rounder face came to mind, so much like Damian’s and yet all Bruce’s. He had scrunched his face like that once upon a time when focused. Whenever Alfred entered the room that scrunch would ease as Bruce’s bright piercing eyes that held so much emotion would flit up to him. Those eyes could display sadness or joy by looking into them. It was easy to check them for the truth, Bruce had never quite figured out how to keep his emotions from there.

He finished laying out a final cookie on the tray before him and caught sight of a glob of dough left on the counter. He scooped it up with a finger to throw it away, but was stopped by a confident humm from beside him. Damian was straightening from his work over the cooled sugar cookies and examining them.

“Perfect.” Alfred told him, moving to examine the rows of bats drawn in perfect royal icing. “I’m sure Master Dick will be delighted to try them.”

There was hope in Damian’s eyes at this statement. It seemed he had never learned to hide his emotions from his eyes either. He was more like his father than he even realized. Probably as much like his father as he hoped to be, and still unfortunate enough that he’d always be told just how alike they were instead of seeing it for himself.

“Truly?” Damian asked.

Alfred leaned to examine them closer, “Yes.” he said, straightening to look at Damian again, “Even if they were not, your brother would enjoy them all the same because they are from you.”

Damian’s nose crinkled again, “I am only icing them. You have done most of the work.”

“Nonsense.” Alfred told him, “You have helped every step of the way.”

Damian should have smiled, but he did not. Dick would have grinned, bright and beautiful. Jason preened. Tim giving him a shy but pleased smile. Cass a wide hug or satisfied look. Even Bruce would have given him a small smile if not something wider. But Damian only nodded and shifted his eyes to the rack of cooling cookies, already trying to determine how long it would be before he could continue his duty.

“There is one thing this is missing.” Alfred said, “A crucial ingredient.”

Damian’s attention snapped towards Alfred, “What is--”

Before he could finish his sentence Alfred reached out and pressed the dough still stuck to his finger to Damian’s nose, smearing it on the little button. Green eyes blinked surprise at him, wide and shocked, Damian’s mouth open in a gape of half formed words.

“Laughter.”

Damian’s eyes lit with it a moment before his lips caught up with the emotion. And there it was. It wasn’t bells or wild and raucous. It was like a butterfly surprised into flight, completely still before breaking into wonderful motion, warm and fluttering and all crinkled.

“Now, they are perfect.” Alfred said, smiling.


End file.
